The Long and Winding Road
by Kyoto-Caitlyn
Summary: A collection of stories from the Telling Stories Again universe. Ed's got a lot more to say and a lot more story to tell.
1. Chapter 1: Foster Homes Part 1

Hello everyone! Welcome to the sequel to Telling Stories Again! If you haven't figured it out yet, this is a direct sequel to my story Telling Stories Again which I highly recommend reading before reading this one otherwise things won't make a ton of sense. As I mentioned in the summary, this is a collection of stories so there's no particular order or running narrative plot. Just a collection of stories from Ed's past, present, and future. I heard all of you guys and so the first two chapters will be covering the boys' time in foster care. The original document was over thirty pages long, so I had to split it up! I'm not sure when the second half will be up, but it'll be soon! The last thing I want to say before I stop talking and let you all read is that there is descriptions of child sexual abuse in this. It's nothing super explicit, but it is there so just wanted to get that out there so anyone uncomfortable with that can skip this chapter or that portion of the narrative. I tried to make it pretty obvious when it started so everyone sort of knew that's what Ed was talking about. Lastly, there is some mild child abuse (if there is such a thing) in this chapter as well as some panic scenes and things. Okay, I think I've covered everything so enjoy and I'll see you next time!

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 _The long and winding road that leads to your door, will never disappear. I've seen that road before. It always leads me here; lead me to your door. The wild and windy night that the rain washed away has left a pool of tears, crying for the day. Why leave me standing here? Let me know the way._

 _\- The Beatles_

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I remember living in foster care as clear as the abuse. Our week in foster care is burned in the back of my brain and honestly, sometimes it's scarier and harder to think about than the abuse, believe it or not. The day Al told Winry what was going on we spent all afternoon in the ER getting checked out and interviewed by so many people. We got to see Dad for a short time while we were there and after a short scare with Al (he ran away when our social worker told Dada he had to leave), we got discharged. That was terrifying. We knew that we were going to a foster home. A stranger's house. Our house wasn't good enough for the state. It wasn't safe. We didn't know what life would be like at the foster home. All we knew was that we were scared. We got in Mrs. Davis' car and she drove us to our foster parents' house. Dada had left about an hour before we were discharged and in that time, he had packed us each a bag and dropped them off at the foster home. The ride to the foster home was short but awkward. Al and me were scared and had no idea what living in the foster home would be like. All we knew about foster care was what we heard on TV or the internet. You know – stuff in trash bags (which is usually the case), never having contact with your family again, and since we were both older, aging out without a real home. That was all we knew and those things terrified us. Made it really difficult to hold a conversation when we were scared out of our minds. Mrs. Davis pulled into a subdivision not too far from our house and stopped at a typical, two-story house. The yard was neatly manicured, all the flowers perky and full. The yard sort of reminded me of how I always imagined Aunt Petunia's yard in _Harry Potter_ looked. Made me scared that just looking at it would mess it up. Anyways, Mrs. Davis shut off the car and turned back to look at me and Al, the two terrified little kids in her back seat.

"Okay, boys," Mrs. Davis said to us gently, "We're here." We both just stared at her, Mrs. Davis sighing; "I know this is hard on you two. I'll do my best come Monday to expedite the process of getting you home to your daddy. Do you two have any questions before we go in?"

"How many big kids are living there?" I asked nervously.

"The Porters are currently fostering two boys," Mrs. Davis answered. "One is seventeen, one is sixteen." I shivered slightly, Al whimpering beside me.

" _Th-That big?_ " I managed to choke out, my voice shaking. "Can we just go home? Dada never d-did anything m-m-mean to us, p-promise."

"Oh, Edward, I'm sure your daddy never did anything to you boys," Mrs. Davis replied sadly.

"If you know, why can't we go home?" I asked miserably.

"Because they are rules I have to follow for every case to ensure I keep children safe," Mrs. Davis told me. "There are measures in place to protect children we have removed from dangerous situations at home to prevent further harm and I have to follow them. I know it's hard to understand, but I have to follow protocol. I'm sorry, boys. If your dad passes our checks and cooperates, I'll have you home with him soon." We both stared at her blankly. It really felt like she didn't believe me. I really didn't understand what was going on and those ideas of foster care I had certainly didn't help. All I wanted to do was go home. Nobody said anything and Mrs. Davis sighed again. "C'mon, boys. Let's go in." We got out of the car and Mrs. Davis led us to the door. She knocked, a few seconds passing before the door opened. A skinny woman with graying hair tied back in a tight bun opened the door, her thin lips pulled into a smile. It wasn't just the yard that reminded me of _Harry Potter_ – this lady looked just like how I always imagined Aunt Petunia in my head, _way_ before I saw the movies. It really didn't make me feel any better, let me tell you.

"Mrs. Porter, thank you for taking them on such short notice," Mrs. Davis greeted, "and for agreeing to foster Alphonse." Mrs. Porter nodded and allowed us inside. We all walked in and she shut the door behind us.

"It's no trouble, Candice," Mrs. Porter replied, her voice reminding me of the way I always imagined rich people would talk. It sounded self-important and snooty somehow. Kinda hard to explain, I know, but I've always been bad at describing the way people sound. Anyway, Mrs. Porter took us to the living room. Al and I sat down on the couch, Mrs. Porter sitting on an armchair nearby while Mrs. Davis stood in the middle.

"This," Mrs. Davis said, pointing to me, "is Edward. He's the older brother."

"Thirteen, right?" Mrs. Porter asked. Mrs. Davis nodded and Mrs. Porter turned to look at Al, her narrow eyes making us both shudder; "So this is Alphonse?" Mrs. Davis nodded again.

"That's right," Mrs. Davis confirmed. "As I explained over the phone, this is a crisis placement. Their step-mother had been abusing them for seven years and their father seems to have had no idea it was occurring. I know you only foster teenage boys and that Alphonse is only eleven, but I didn't want to split up the sibling group, especially considering how fresh the abuse is."

"It just ended this afternoon, right?" Mrs. Porter asked as I silently began heaving on the couch. I grabbed Al's little hand, trying my best to not panic. I didn't want to make Mrs. Porter mad at me so soon after meeting her by freaking out.

"Yes," Mrs. Davis replied. "As you know, children that come from abusive situations often have a lot of baggage. There's probably going to be a lot of unpleasant behavior but hopefully they'll be home with their father by the end of next week."

"We've dealt with difficult children before, we'll deal with them again," Mrs. Porter said matter of factly as if me and Al weren't right there listening.

"Where are your other two foster boys?" Mrs. Davis asked.

"One of them is out with my husband and the other is out with friends," Mrs. Porter explained. "Gary and Tyler should be back soon, but David will be out for a while." Mrs. Davis nodded and looked over toward our bags.

"Why don't you show the boys to their room and then you and I can chat for a bit," Mrs. Davis suggested. Mrs. Porter stood up and headed toward the hallway. I quickly stood up, taking Al with me, and Mrs. Davis helped us with our bags. Mrs. Porter led us up the stairs and took us to the room closest to the stairs.

"This is your room," Mrs. Porter told us. "There's a bathroom across the hall. Get unpacked and a little later I'll lay down the house rules. Then we can get to know each other." I nodded, Al clinging to my hand like his life depended on it.

"I'll come check on you when I'm on my way out," Mrs. Davis told us both. She handed me a business card with her number on it. I took it and Mrs. Davis said, "Remember that you can call me at any time if you feel unsafe, okay? I can't help if you don't say anything." I nodded mutely again and I think she knew I wasn't gonna call her. I think she knew that no matter what happened, we wouldn't call her but maybe she felt that if she gave me her number, I might have the courage to call. The grown-ups left the room and I looked around the room, two twin beds separated by a nightstand with a lamp on it, the head of each bed pushed up against the wall. There were two chests of drawers and a closet. The room itself was a little smaller than our room at home, but it was still decent-sized. Al let go of my hand and walked over to the bag Dada had packed for him. He rummaged around, breathing heavily after a few minutes of looking.

"What's the matter?" I asked softly.

"I c-c-can't f-f-f-find Ch-Chico," he stuttered, starting to cry.

"Maybe Chico accidently got put with my stuff," I assured him. "Let's look, okay?" Al nodded, still crying, and I walked over to my bag. Right on top was my blanket and Lamby but there was no sign of Chico. I dug around, shaking my head.

"Uh-oh, Dada forgot him," I informed him. Al started crying harder and I quickly walked over to him. I pulled him into a hug and said, "It's okay, we'll call Dada and he'll bring him over." Al kept crying so I asked, "Wanna hold on to Lamby? He'll make you feel less scared. I've got my blankie so I'll be okay without him." Al nodded, starting to suck his thumb. I decided to ignore that for a minute and handed Lamby to him.

"Thank you," Al said, Lamby under his arm. He was still sucking his thumb so I decided I needed to at least remind him that Dada didn't want him to do that.

"Al, Dada doesn't want you to suck your thumb, remember?" I told him gently. "You're a big boy and you'll be twelve soon. Dada says that twelve is too old to suck your thumb." Al nodded, but his thumb stayed firmly between his lips.

"I'm scared," Al whimpered.

"I'm scared, too," I told him.

"I w-w-w-wanna go home," Al cried, tears starting to run down his face. "I w-w-want D-Daddy."

" _Shh_ , don't cry," I shushed him frantically, "Don't cry! We'll get in trouble!" Al nodded and hugged Lamby tighter, trying to stop. I grabbed my blanket and started to put our clothes away. I finished unpacking my clothes and started to unpack Al's, noticing that Dada forgot to pack the Pull-Ups that Al was still wearing to bed. Dad went back and forth constantly on whether or not that was really a good way to deal with Al's bedwetting. Al's always had problems with that. Dad says that most kids are dry at nighttime around four or five. That never happened for Al. He's never been dry on, like, a constant basis like most kids. Dada thinks it's 'cause Al was four when the abuse started. I don't know. All I know is that it's been a struggle his whole life and once _she_ came into the picture, that's just how they dealt with it, whether Dad thought it was beneficial or not. As Al got older, Dada started to question _her_ but sorta got nowhere. Al hated wearing them 'cause _she_ teased him and when he was little _she_ forced him to stay in dirty ones all the time but I remember thinking that Dad probably should have packed them for our stay in foster care. None of us knew how our foster parents would react to, well, _that_.

"Okay," I said after unpacking both our bags, Al sniveling nearby with a thumb in his mouth. "You're all unpacked. Dada forgot the Pull-Ups so we gotta ask him to bring those when he brings Chico."

"I don't wanna wear them anymore," Al said around his thumb.

"Yeah, I know," I replied. "Mrs. Porter might want you to wear them, though. It is easier to deal with when you have an accident if you have them on." Al nodded and wiped his nose on his free hand. I knew Al was really scared so I decided to try and distract him a little; "Do you want to build something?"

"Huh?" Al asked.

"We can play with LEGOs if you want," I told him. Al blinked, a couple tears rolling down his face.

"C-Can w-w-we do a p-p-puzzle instead?" Al asked, stuttering behind his thumb. I nodded.

"Sure, okay," I replied. "Dada packed a couple puzzles and your favorite bedtime story. Maybe Mrs. Porter will read it to us."

"Like how Teacher reads it when we sleep over at her house?" Al asked. I nodded.

"Yeah," I answered. "Maybe Mrs. Porter is nice." Al nodded and picked out a puzzle. He picked his favorite – the one with a bunch of big cats. Al still has the puzzle and we still build it sometimes. It's a thousand pieces so it can take a while to build. I poured the pieces all over the floor and Al sat down next to me. I was hoping that doing something Al thought was fun would get his mind off of how scared he was and maybe he'd stop sucking his thumb. I didn't have much faith in the whole Mrs. Porter-being-nice-thing. No adults, besides a select few, were nice to us. They were either _her_ or the teachers at school who looked at us like we were disgusting and bad. Adults were all lumped together in my mind as people who could and _would_ hurt me, one way or another. But if pretending like Mrs. Porter was nice made Al feel better, I was prepared to fake my way through that for hours.

Al and I worked on our puzzle for a little while. Al slowly stopped sucking his thumb and I felt really proud of myself. He clung on to Lamby which I was okay with. I had my blanket so I was okay. Chico was at home somewhere and Al needed something to keep him calm. Dada did pack Al's second favorite stuffed animal, a bunny named Guppy, but Guppy didn't make him feel less anxious the way Chico did. Guppy would help Al fall asleep, but probably wouldn't calm him down when he woke up screaming later. Anyways, we didn't get very far on our puzzle when Mrs. Davis popped her head in. Mrs. Davis reminded me of the things I could call her for, including home sickness, if me and Al started to fight a lot, if we felt scared around our foster parents or foster brothers, and if anyone touched us in a way that made us scared. I nodded, that business card she had given me in my pocket. I think she just gave me those instructions because she was hoping that even if I never called her, I would tell Dada if any of that stuff happened and then Dad would call her. As Mrs. Davis left, she told me and Al and that Mrs. Porter wanted us to go downstairs and meet her in the living room. I nodded and took Al's hand. My blanket was in my other hand and I guided Al out of the room. I took Al to the living room and we sat down on the couch. Mrs. Porter walked in and sat across from us on a chair.

"Okay, so my name is Deborah Porter," Mrs. Porter introduced. "You may call me Mrs. Porter or ma'am. Nothing smart, got it?" I nodded, Al clinging to my hand. "Good. There are a few rules in this house. I do not tolerate lying or fighting. If I catch you doing either, you will be punished. There is no stealing or hoarding in this house. Noise levels must be kept at talking level and rough housing inside the house is not allowed. If you want to act like hooligans, you can go outside. You need to clean up after yourselves and your beds will be made every morning when you get up. Bedtime for Alphonse is 9:00 and Edward, I want you in bed no later than 9:45. You are not to use the phone or the Internet without permission and Internet, TV, and video games may only be used one hour at a time. You need to realize that I am not going to coddle you because someone abused you. I will help raise you into decent young men and part of that is discipline." We nodded, the word "discipline" rattling around inside my head. That word scared me more than anything. _She_ always said we were bad and needed to be punished – we needed discipline. At that point, I really didn't know the difference between the two. Mrs. Porter then said, "The last thing I need to tell you is that you are not allowed to call your father for any reason while you're here." Sweat rolled down my face and I leaned closer to Mrs. Porter.

"M-Mrs. Davis s-s-said we could call him as m-much as we w-wanted to," I told her. She stared down at me, her narrow eyes making me feel very small.

"Well, _I_ say you can't," Mrs. Porter said completely deadpan. I shook my head, my whole body shaking. I didn't understand. I mean, _she_ always changed rules on us with no warning but this… this made me feel so unsafe. I sort of trusted Mrs. Davis despite only knowing her for a couple hours but this really destroyed any sense of safety I had. For Mrs. Davis to say one thing and Mrs. Porter to say a completely different thing really freaked me out in a way I can't really put into words. You wouldn't know unless you've been there and it really is the worst place in the word to be.

"B-But we n-need to c-c-call Dada," I stuttered. "Al's kitty Ch-Chico got l-left at home. W-We need t-t-to call D-Dada so he c-c-can b-bring Chico h-here."

"Sorry, Edward, but you are not to call your father," Mrs. Porter insisted. "It'll just make things harder for you, especially when you don't get to go home." My heart stalled a little bit. Everyone all day had been telling me that in a week or two, Al and I would be at home with Dad and our lives would slowly go back to normal. Well, as normal as they could at that point. I didn't know why Mrs. Porter said what she said and honestly, I never asked. I just sort of chose to ignore that comment, but that wasn't the first time Mrs. Porter said that to me. She said it a lot and it did begin to get into my head that we were never going home.

"B-But Al c-c-can't s-sleep without Chico," I argued weakly. "C-Can't we j-just call Dada th-this once?"

" _No_ ," Mrs. Porter said shortly. "Now, let's talk about sleep. Do either of you have any sleep disturbances?"

"Disturbances?" I questioned.

"Nightmares, night terrors, sleep walking, sleep talking, or – God forbid – _bedwetting_ ," Mrs. Porter clarified. I swallowed nervously and nodded.

"Yes," I whimpered.

"Okay, who deals with what?" Mrs. Porter asked.

"We both have nightmares and night terrors," I told her softly. "Um, I sleepwalk sometimes but Al never does. We, uh, both wet the bed. Al does it a lot more than me, but I do it sometimes. That's another reason we gotta call Dada. Al wears Pull-Ups to bed and –" Mrs. Porter held her hand up and I stopped talking immediately.

"Didn't I _just_ tell you that I wasn't going to coddle you?" Mrs. Porter questioned sharply. My brow furrowed.

"Huh?" I asked, confused.

"Wearing a diaper means not having to deal with the consequences of your actions," Mrs. Porter explained harshly, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes even more somehow. "If you pee the bed, you will have to lie in it. If you pee the bed, you will be punished. Am I clear?" I swallowed nervously and shook my head.

"B-But w-we don't m-mean to," I said meekly.

"Does it matter?" Mrs. Porter questions, crossing her arms. "I think I've gone over everything. Do not call your father about the stupid cat or the diapers for you brother. Do you understand?" I licked my lips but nodded.

"O-Okay," I said, Al whimpering beside me.

"I-I n-need Ch-Chico," Al insisted miserably. "C-Can y-y-you please call D-Dada and t-t-tell him?" Mrs. Porter scowled at him.

" _No_ ," she snapped, Al starting to cry. Mrs. Porter raised up and slapped Al across the face. I flinched, Al falling silent instantly. "Cut it out. You're not an infant. You're nearly twelve-years-old. It's time to start acting like it and grow up." Al delicately cradled his cheek and I stared at Mrs. Porter. So much for her being nice to us. Even though I had serious doubt about Mrs. Porter being a nice person, I had stupidly hoped that maybe we'd get lucky. Maybe Mrs. Porter would be like Teacher – you know, tough but nice. It sucked realizing that me and Al weren't gonna catch a break and got stuck with a terrible foster parent. I guess it just matched the general trend of our lives at that point, but it still sucked.

"I need to make dinner," Mrs. Porter announced. "Stay out of trouble." Al wiped his face with his sleeve, his thumb slowly going into his mouth. Mrs. Porter scowled at him and ripped the thumb out of his mouth. "This is why I only foster teenagers. If Mrs. Davis hadn't insisted you two stay together, Al'd be sleeping in a juvie hall in Chicago tonight. You might want to behave and be grateful that Gary and I opened our home to you." Al whimpered softly and I nodded.

"W-We are," I told her. "We are."

"Good," Mrs. Porter said stiffly. The front door opened and Mrs. Porter told us, "That's my husband and Tyler. They'll come greet you." Mrs. Porter walked off to meet them and soon, a man and a teenage boy were in the living room with us. The man waved at us and we just stared at them.

"Hi, boys," he greeted. "My name's Gary. You can call me Mr. Porter if you want to."

"Ed-Edward," I said awkward. "I'm Edward and this is my little brother, Alphonse. I go by Ed and he goes by Al."

"Pleasure," Mr. Porter said, the boy glaring at us. Mr. Porter gestured to the boy and said, "This is Tyler. He's lived here, oh, about a year. Right, Tyler?"

"Yeah," the boy answered gruffly. He was a big guy, towering over Mr. Porter as they stood in the living room. Tyler had pale skin and dark, brown eyes. There was a dangerous look in his eyes, one I was really familiar with.

"Well," Mr. Porter said, looking at Tyler. "Is that all you're going to say to these boys?" Tyler scowled at Mr. Porter.

"I'm seventeen," he spat. "I play football." Tyler turned to Mr. Porter and angrily asked, " _Better?!_ "

"Cut the attitude," Mr. Porter scolded. He turned back to me and Al and asked, "So, how old are you two? You look pretty young and I know one of you isn't quite a teenager yet."

"I'm thirteen," I squeaked. "Al's eleven, but he'll be twelve soon." Mr. Porter nodded.

"Ah, okay," he replied. "Well, make yourselves at home, boys. Tyler, be nice to these boys. From what Deb told me over the phone, the abuse ended just hours ago and this is a crisis placement as their father is being investigated." Tyler waved his hand around dismissively.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever dude," Tyler muttered, staring at me and Al. I shivered, Mr. Porter walking off. We stared at each other for a little while before a smile spread across Tyler's face. I swallowed, that look in his eye scaring me. The look reminded me of how _she_ would look at us when _she_ would cook up new ways to torture us.

"So, ya'll ever had sex before?" Tyler asked. Al looked at me, obviously confused. At eleven, Al didn't really have a good idea of what sex was, unless it was about making babies. I shook my head. Honestly, I didn't really have a good idea of what it was, either. Tyler smirked and went on; "You mean to tell me who ever abused you never made you hard or fucked either of you?" My heart began thumping in my chest and I shook my head again. Tyler scowled at me and demanded, "You both stupid or something?"

"Um," I squeaked, unsure of which question to answer first. "V-Vanessa n-n-never b-b-bad touched us."

" _Bad touch?!_ " Tyler laughed. "Shit, kid! You're thirteen? _Damn!_ " I stared at him and Tyler got closer to me. He grabbed my shirt collar and I yelped a little. "How about tonight I show you what I'm talking about? How about we spend some time together in your bed and I fuck your tiny little body? Would that be better or worse than what Vanessa did to you?" I swallowed nervously. I didn't really know what he was talking about. I figured it had something to do with sex, but me and Al were a little behind in that area. All I knew was that I didn't want Tyler or anyone else to do that to me or Al. Tyler looked over at Al who was shaking next to me and said,

"I could do it to both of you. Or I could just beat the shit out of both of you." I squirmed, starting to get panicked. I didn't want to get hit by anyone. I had had enough of that growing up with _her_. Bad thoughts started to creep into my head. All I could think about was the last couple days I had suffered, getting beaten every day and getting locked up for hours on end. All I could think about was the chain; how _she_ still loved to chain me to it and beat me with it after seven years of abuse. I started crying, Tyler finally letting go of my shirt.

"I was just fooling. Shit, kid." Tyler told me as I sat on the couch and cried. "I ain't never done any of that nasty stuff. David has, though. I'd watch out for David if I were you. He loves touching and fucking little kids like you. You should both stay the fuck away from him." Neither of us did anything, so Al cuddled into my side and Tyler left. I continued to cry loudly, Al holding on to me so I'd calm down.

"What on earth is going on?" Mrs. Porter demanded from somewhere nearby. I was crying too hard to locate where she was. Plus, she sounded super annoyed, so I really didn't want to look at her. If I did, I'd probably just cry harder.

"Um," Al squeaked, obviously nervous, "Br-Brother's sc-scared. Th-The b-b-b-big k-kid w-was m-mean t-t-t-to him."

"Well, if Edward wants to eat tonight I'd suggest that he stops that noise," Mrs. Porter said, clearly annoyed with me. "It's time for Edward to start acting like a teenager and less like a toddler. I suppose when your father wasn't allowing someone to abuse you he was coddling you and spoiling you both rotten." I just kept crying, the mention of Dada making me feel worse than I already did. Al started to rub my back, Mrs. Porter tapping her foot loudly nearby.

"I'll give Edward to the count of three to stop crying and if he doesn't, he'll be sent up to his room without dinner and can cry all he wants there," Mrs. Porter announced, crossing her arms. I tried to stop, I really did, but couldn't. I was just too upset and scared. I heard her say three and when I wasn't done crying my eyes out, I felt someone grab me by the hair. I screamed, trying to get away as my breathing got panicked.

"L-Let me g-g-go!" I cried, freaked out. "I'll b-b-be a g-g-good boy!" The person dragged me to my feet and let me go. I continued crying loudly, my chest heaving as I stood there unsure of where I was or what was even going on.

"Go to your room, Edward," Mrs. Porter instructed coolly. "Go make that noise upstairs." I stood still for a moment before walking toward the stairs. Instantly Al began to follow me, stopping when someone grabbed his arm. He yelped loudly and jumped a bit, the unwelcome touch scaring him. "Where are you going, Alphonse?" Mrs. Porter demanded sharply.

"W-With B-B-Brother," Al stuttered, his little voice shaking.

"No, you're not," Mrs. Porter informed him bluntly. "He's being punished. You're not. You cannot follow him around." Al's lip trembled and he took my hand.

"I w-w-w-wanna b-b-be with E-Ed," he told her. "I-I'm sc-scared."

"You boys aren't very bright, are you?" Mrs. Porter commented with a sigh, still holding on to one of Al's arms. "I bet it's all the blunt force trauma. I'll make this as simple for you as I can. Ed was a bad boy. Ed did not listen when I told him to do something. Ed is in trouble. You were not bad. You are not in trouble. Make sense?"

"B-B-But B-Brother wasn't b-b-bad," Al argued gently. "He's j-j-just c-crying 'cause h-he's sc-sc-scared."

"Do you always stutter?" Mrs. Porter questioned, obviously irritated. Al shook his head so Mrs. Porter instructed, "Then until you're finished stuttering, I don't want to hear a peep out of you. Now, let go of Edward's hand."

" _God_ , Deb, just let the kid go with his brother!" I could hear Mr. Porter complain from a different room. "You'll have them both crying if you separate them!"

"Don't tell me what to do!" Mrs. Porter snapped, a fight breaking out between the two of them. I tugged gently on Al's sleeve and guided him up the stairs. We went and hid in our room for the rest of the evening, my stomach growling loudly as I was denied dinner.

That night before Al was supposed to go to bed, Mrs. Porter came into our room. We eyed her carefully, Mrs. Porter rolling her eyes at us. I didn't know what she wanted but I did know was that I was terrified of her and the foster boys, even the one we hadn't met yet. We hadn't exactly been welcomed with open arms in the home. I had been grabbed – twice – threatened and made fun of just in the span of a couple hours. I had also been denied dinner just for crying so I really wasn't sure what Mrs. Porter wanted from us. I was scared we had somehow done something wrong and that she was here to punish us. Well, I was half right. Once she was in the room, Mrs. Porter held up a box of trash bags for us to see. My brow furrowed and I swallowed nervously. I had no idea what she wanted to do with those but I had a nasty feeling that it wasn't good.

"Strip your beds," Mrs. Porter instructed. I nodded and did so, helping Al 'cause he was shaking so bad. He could hardly hold on to the sheets and blankets. We put all the bedding on the floor and Mrs. Porter stepped forward. She pulled a trash bag out of the box and began to cut the bag open so it sort of looked like a blanket. I watched her put it on one of the beds. She pulled some duct tape out of her back pocket and she tapped the bag to the mattress. She then took another bag out of the box and did the same thing to it, taping it to the other mattress.

"There," she huffed.

"Uh, sh-should I put th-the sheets b-back on?" I asked softly. Mrs. Porter put a hand on her hip and rolled her eyes.

"Jesus, _no_ ," she snapped at me and I flinched violently. "You'll sleep right on the trash bag and if you pee on it, you'll have to either lie in it or be honest and admit it happened so I can punish you properly. Got it?" I nodded.

"S-So… I mean… d'you w-want us t-to tell you?" I stuttered.

"I'd prefer if you didn't do it at all," Mrs. Porter told me, irritated. "But if it happens, yes, I'd like you to tell me so I can punish you. You are much too old to be pissing in bed." My lip shook a little but I nodded.

"I-I… I know." I sniffled and hung my head, wiping my nose on my hand. "I-I'm sorry. We're sorry." I meekly glanced up at Mrs. Porter whose lip was upturned in a sneer.

"Alphonse, get ready for bed," she instructed harshly, starting to leave. Al watched her go, the door slamming so loud it scared him. He started crying and I hurried over to comfort him. I really wanted to avoid getting in trouble.

"Don't cry," I instructed gently. "It's okay. I'll help you get ready for bed. It's okay." Al cried and cried and I didn't know what to do. I wanted to call Dada and ask him to comfort Al somehow over the phone but didn't know what Mrs. Porter would do to us if we did. I just hugged him tight and rubbed his back until he calmed down.

"Put your jammies on, Al," I told him. "I'll get ready, too, okay?" Al nodded and got dressed, sniffling loudly. Once he was dressed I took his hand and walked him to the bathroom. We took turns and I made sure Al went potty before we went back to our room. I really wanted to avoid getting in trouble for having an accident. We got back to our room and I had him get on one of the beds. I tucked him in as best I could and decided to read the book Dada had packed for us. It was our worn copy of _The Velveteen Rabbit_ , Al's absolute favorite picture book growing up. I sat on the edge of his bed, Al staring up at me with big, wide eyes. I knew what he wanted – he wanted me to sleep with him 'cause he was scared. We both were. But the beds were very small and neither of them would fit both of us.

"It's okay," I whispered softly. "I'm gonna take care of you. I always do." Al nodded and I started to read; " _There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat spotted brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink satin._ " I read the whole book to him and when he was sleeping, I leaned in and kissed his forehead, whispering,

"I love you." I realize now that I definitely had more of a "dad" mindset toward Al, especially at that time when I really wasn't sure if we were really going to be able to go home. Everything Mrs. Porter had said completely contradicted what Mrs. Davis had said and that was really confusing, especially considering how unstable and scary that day had been. Hell, my whole life had been like that to a certain extent. With Mom being sick, Dad doing the single parent-thing, and then the whole thing with _her_ had made our lives very unstable and that has had a lasting effect on me and Al. Anyway, I put the book on the nightstand separating our beds and crawled into mine, turning the light off and hoping and pray that we didn't have any accidents, didn't sleepwalk, and didn't have any bad dreams. Unfortunately for us, a living nightmare was going to happen just a few hours later.

After sleeping for a while, I woke up from a nightmare and thankfully I didn't scream as I woke up. Unfortunately, I realized I had wet the bed. I sat up for a second, my throat feeling tight. I wasn't sure what to do. I knew what Mrs. Porter had told me, so I needed to decide if laying in it all night was worse than admitting it happened. As I sat there in my own piss, I decided that I would only be in worse trouble if I didn't come clean, so I put my leg on and got out of bed. Now, this memory has been buried so deep down inside of me for so long that it wasn't until very recently that I even knew it happened. But now – now that it's all out in the open, I remember every detail like it just happened yesterday. I walked down the hallway to Mrs. Porter's room and slowly opened the door. I peeked inside, terrified. I had no idea how Mrs. Porter punished bedwetters, but I knew how _she_ punished us. I didn't want to be sprayed with the hose. I swallowed my fear and walked inside, Mrs. Porter sitting up in bed as I did. I started shivering and she turned a lamp on.

"Edward?" She questioned. I quivered and nodded, stepping a little closer.

"I, um, uh," I struggled, my voice barely above a whisper. I shook my head, starting to cry as I said, "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I didn't mean to but I, uh, had an accident in bed."

"Well, at least you're honest," Mrs. Porter sighed, standing up. She walked over to me, towering over my cowering little body and smacked my cheek. I wasn't expecting it, so I fell over, hitting my head on the floor. I quickly sat up and scooted away, Mrs. Porter reaching for me. She grabbed my hair and I was so scared that I couldn't make a sound. She basically dragged me from the room and I was frozen in fear. I didn't kick or fight or even cry as she dragged me back to the room Al and I were sharing. Once we got there, Mrs. Porter pulled me on to my feet by the hair and pushed me into a corner of the room.

"Stand here until morning," she instructed harshly. "Think about how badly your legs hurt the next time you piss in the bed." I nodded and she left. I silently stood there, feeling more worthless and disgusting in that moment then I had in a while. I hung my head and started to cry, my eyes burning. My one real leg began to ache after a while, the door slowly opening. I froze and could hear Al noisily moving around on his trash bag covered bed. A large boy snuck in and I quickly looked away. I was terrified. I remembered what Tyler had said about the other foster child David – how David loved to molest little boys (though Tyler didn't put it that way) and was terrified of what he would do to me. I didn't even consider that Al was going to be his target. That is, I didn't consider it until he hovered over Al's bed. I turned my head as Al began to shake and heard the pee splash on the trash bag. I watched as the boy gently shushed Al, his large hand slipping under Al's clothes.

"Wh-What are you doing?" I asked, that boy David looked right at me.

"You better not say a God damned word about this or I'll do it to you," David threatened. "Then I'll fucking beat you until bleed and kill you if you ever tell anyone. _Got it?!_ " I swallowed and nodded, David turning his attention back on to Al who was crying.

"D-Dada's g-g-gonna b-bring us home b-b-before my b-b-birthday," Al whimpered softly. I wanted to do something, but I was too scared. David's threat terrified me and I was scared that if I left to get Mrs. Porter that she wouldn't believe me and punish me more than she already had.

"No, he's not," David hissed harshly. "He's never coming back for you kids. You're just worthless, piece of shit foster kids now. Nobody gives a damn about you and your dad's never gonna come get you. He doesn't care. He never did, trust me." I could sort of see Al desperately trying to push David's hand away, but he was too weak.

"St-Stop," Al begs. "I-I d-don't w-w-want…." Al trialed off and I licked my lips as David shushed him gently.

"Don't touch him," I whispered, David turning toward me.

"Shut your fucking mouth," David warned. I swallowed hard and David softly told Al, "It's okay. It's okay. You're fine. This'll feel good, I won't hurt you. This is our secret." David pulled Al's pants down and I watched David molest him. I cried heavily, shaking as I watched him do things that are just unspeakable to a scared, helpless, little kid. I couldn't watch for long and covered my eyes, my legs shaking. I felt completely trapped and unable to help him and, if I'm honest, I still blame myself for the whole thing. I mean, I was scared into not saying anything and logically I know it's not my fault but sometimes I still blame myself for what happened to Al. Anyways, we were both crying and David slowly stopped touching him and as David snuck back out of the room I asked Al,

"Al? Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

"I-I'm okay," Al whispered softy. "My privates hurt." I nodded and Al started wailing softly, saying; "I wet the bed!" I walked over and sit down next to him, Al crawling up into my lap. I started to rock him back and forth, Al's shaking little fingers gripping desperately on to my clothes.

"I'm sorry," I whispered gently. "I can't hold you for long. If Mrs. Porter finds out, I'll be in so much trouble." Al nods, resting his head down on my shoulder.

"I know," he replies. I continued to rock him back and forth, Al crying himself back to sleep. I put him back on to the soaked bed, wondering if I should tell Mrs. Porter now that David was gone. But I was scared that she either wouldn't believe me or be more upset about Al having an accident instead of being upset about David molesting Al. I didn't want Al to have to stand in the corner all night or worse, so I decided that I would tell in the morning. Too bad I wimped out.

That morning, Mrs. Porter came into our room to tell me I could take a shower and get out of the corner. She found out Al wet the bed and smacked him on the cheek then told him he couldn't eat breakfast. As I got ready to take a shower, I was seriously gonna tell her what happened. My heart was beating loudly as she scolded Al and I timidly said,

"M-Mrs. Porter?" I stuttered nervously. She turned to me, her narrow eyes burning a hole right through me. I nervously looked around, a long shadow being cast on the floor. I froze, my eyes sliding over to see David in our doorway. I swallowed hard and looked back at Mrs. Porter who was crossing her arms.

"Well?" She demanded, Al sniffling on the bed. He looked at me with wide eyes, silently begging me not to tell. I nodded and just said,

"Al… Al has to eat a little when he takes his medicine."

It was then I decided to force that memory down inside of me so far that I'd never have to relive it again.

The rest of that Saturday was like a waking nightmare. David stalked us all over the house, cornering us and trying to beat us up. I guess he was making sure we weren't gonna say anything to anyone about what happened. When David wasn't messing with us, Tyler was and when he wasn't, Mrs. Porter was yelling at us and punishing us for everything. Like, Mrs. Porter wanted us to set the table for lunch, so we did, but Al was shaking so he accidently dropped a plate. It broke, of course, and Mrs. Porter got really mad at him. She yelled at him, roughly grabbed his arm and shoved him into a corner. She didn't let him eat lunch so I tried to sneak a snack and got caught. While she was yelling at me I started to have a panic attack and that didn't go over with her well at all. I ran off and hid in a closet, Mrs. Porter finding me and getting me in trouble. She constantly called us the worst foster children she had ever dealt with and it only got worse. She also kept telling us that we were never going to go home, especially since we were so badly behaved. I didn't want to believe her since Mrs. Davis had told us we were going to be home soon, but Mrs. Porter's words began to taunt me, crawling up into my heart and staying there.

Al was finally allowed to eat at dinner time but he ended up trying to hoard some leftovers in our room. Mrs. Porter did nightly room checks, so of course she found the food and he got in trouble. I wanted to call Dada but every time I got near the phone, I got caught and yelled at. I was starting to fear that this was our life now, and honestly nothing had really changed. We were basically being abused and Mr. Porter never stood up for us, even though he was at least somewhat nice to us. That night, I did exactly what I did what I did the night before, reading to Al as he fell asleep. I decided that even though the bed was small that I was gonna stay next to Al to keep him safe in case David tried to molest him again. I laid there, my throat getting tight as I thought about Dad. I missed him so much and I just wanted to go home. I hugged Al tighter and cried myself to sleep, wondering if we were ever going to see Dad again.

"Ed?"

I groaned, the trash bag beneath me making noise as I sat up. I shivered and realized I was wet. _Great_ , I thought. I looked over to find Al sitting on his knees beside me. It was dark, so I turned the lamp on next to the bed and saw how pale and sweaty he was. He was panting, his arms wrapped around his middle as he hunched over, clearly in pain. I sat up as he said, "I had an accident."

"Yeah, I know," I whispered, trying not to wake the Porters up. I didn't want Al to have to stand in the corner all night long like I did.

"I don't feel good," Al moaned softly. "It hurts to go potty." My brow furrowed.

"It does?" I asked. He nodded so I asked, "Was it hurting all day?" Al nodded again.

"Yean and I woke up having an accident," Al whimpered pathetically. "It burned and my back hurt so bad that I just keeping peeing in bed even though I knew it was wrong." He pawed at his eyes, a little wail escaping his lips.

" _Shh_ , don't cry," I instructed softly. "It's okay, don't cry." He gripped his tummy, groaning softly as he sat in the puddle he had made on the trash bag covering our bed. I knew something was wrong, that he was sick, but wasn't sure what to do. If I told the Porters what happened, they would probably only punish Al for wetting the bed. I didn't want that to happen but also knew hiding it would just prolong the punishment until the morning. I frowned, Al panting heavily as he was still in pain, and tried to think of what I should do. The only thing I could think of was calling Dada, but Mrs. Porter made it quite clear on Friday evening that calling Dada was out of the question. But I didn't know what else to do.

"I'm gonna call Dada," I whispered, Al shivering. "But let's change first. You can lay down on the couch while I call him if you want, okay?" Al nodded, but his lip was still trembling. "What?"

"I've been leaking," Al admitted to me softly.

"Oh," I breathed awkwardly. "Um, that's okay."

"It hurts, Brother," he whimpered. "It hurts so bad." I frowned, wondering what could be wrong with Al.

"Is there blood in your pee?" I asked. He shook his head.

"I don't know," he replied. I was beginning to suspect he had a bladder infection or something like that. That would explain the burning and the leaking. But what about the intense pain and his back hurting? Those didn't fit the bill of a bladder infection. At least, I didn't think it did.

"Let's get dressed," I instructed gently, creeping out of bed. Al nodded and I helped him out of bed, worried by how warm and sweaty he was. He was shaking, which isn't that unusual, but it was different somehow. I helped Al peel his drenched clothes off, Al still panting and doubled over. I was worried about him and hoped Dad would know what to do. I examined Al's clothes to see if there were any blood stains anywhere and sure enough, there were. I didn't think that bladder infections caused bloody pee, but I remember thinking that maybe they did. I could only remember that when he had appendicitis a couple years ago, he had bloody pee and that scared me. I took Al's hand when we were both dressed and snuck out of the room. Al walked hunched over next to me, his arms still wrapped around his tummy. I guided him down the stairs to the Porters' kitchen where their home phone was. I knew it was late, but I figured that poor Dada wasn't sleeping since the three of us were apart and he was worried sick. I dialed the number, Al moaning beside me, and held the phone up to my ear.

"Hello?" It didn't take more than two rings for Dad to answer.

"Dada? It's Ed." I said in a hushed voice.

"Honey, it's late," Dad told me gently. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes," I whispered urgently. "Dad, Al's sick. He's running a fever, I think, and his back and tummy hurt, he says it burns to pee, and he's got blood in his pee."

"My goodness," Dada said worriedly. "Is there a thermometer around you can use to take his temperature? Have you told Mrs. Porter?"

"I haven't told her," I answered. "I, uh, didn't know if she'd listen to me. W-Will you take us to the ER?"

"Ed, sweetie, I'm not sure I can," Dada said, his voice shaking. "I don't want to do anything that could keep us apart longer."

"Yeah, but, Dada," I replied, a lump in my throat. "I'm scared. I'm scared, Daddy. Can you come pick us up and take Al to the ER? _Please?_ " I heard Dad sigh, Al moaning again.

"Ed, I don't think I can," he said miserably.

"But this could prove to her that you love us!" I cried, forgetting that I was talking in a whisper to avoid being caught by my foster parents. "The Porters don't even like us! They make us sleep on a trash bag and made me stand in the corner all night for wetting the bed last night!"

" _What?_ " Dada demanded, Al tugging on my sleeve frantically. My heart slowed down and I cautiously turned to look behind me, Mrs. Porter staring at me with her hands on her hips. My knees started shaking, Dada saying my name worriedly on the phone.

"Who's on the phone, Edward?" Mrs. Porter asked, though I knew she knew who it was. I swallowed hard and shook my head, my shaking hands trying to keep a grip on the phone.

"Uh," I vocalized anxiously, Mrs. Porter's beady narrow eyes staring at me.

"Give me the phone, Edward," she instructed harshly. "You know you aren't supposed to talk to your father."

"B-But it's an emergency," I said meekly, my voice shaking. "Al's sick." Mrs. Porter rolled her eyes.

"Sick or not you know I told you on Friday that you can't call your father," she insisted.

"But… but Al's sick," I argued weakly, cradling the phone in my arm like it was a baby. "He's sick. Dada needed to know."

"Let me speak with him," Mrs. Porter told me. I didn't want to give the phone up, but knew I had to. I gave her the phone and she instantly said, "I don't want you talking with them. It only makes it harder for them to adjust." Al gasped loudly beside me, bent in a 90-degree angle. He was panting harder than before, obviously in pain.

"You okay?" I asked worriedly. He shook his head, his face both pale and green at the same time.

" _No_ ," he groaned. "I don't feel good."

"I'll probably be taking him to the ER," Mrs. Porter told Dada over the phone. "You want to come? I don't know, maybe. Fine, whatever. Just tell her. Bye." Mrs. Porter hung up the phone and turned to us.

"As angry as I am that one of you wet the bed and didn't tell me, you called your father which I specifically told you not to do. I can't punish either of you right now, though, because we're going to the ER," she told us, clearly irritated.

"Is Dada gonna meet us there?" I asked timidly. Mrs. Porter nodded, though she was glaring at me. I knew she was mad. I knew she was. And that made me feel so anxious.

"Yes," she replied stiffly. I licked my lips, my trembling hands twisting my shirt around.

"I'm sorry I called Dada, but I didn't know what else to do," I told her frantically. Her eyes narrowed and I went on, "I knew you'd be so mad at Al for wetting the bed that you wouldn't listen when I told you he was sick so I called Dad. I'm sorry. I'll be good. I'm sorry."

"What did I tell you about wetting the bed, Edward?" Mrs. Porter asked me harshly. I swallowed hard and took a shaky breath.

"Th-That we're too old and we have to tell you so we can be punished," I responded, my voice shaking.

"And you chose not to do that tonight," Mrs. Porter scolded. "You bad boys." My lip trembled and I shook my head.

"We… I… he didn't mean to," I defended him. "Honest, he didn't. It was an accident. Al's always wet the bed, ever since he was really little. He didn't mean to. Don't punish Al. He's sick. He didn't mean it."

"Intention doesn't define morality, Edward," Mrs. Porter told me blandly. She whistled loudly and pointed toward the hallway, both me and Al flinching. "Let's go!" Al stumbled a bit and I quickly caught him before he fell. That was the last thing he needed.

"You can ride on my back," I whispered. He looked gratefully at me and I helped him on to my back. I carried him to the Porter's garage, Mrs. Porter staring at us as I helped Al off my back and into the back seat of her car.

"I don't appreciate you telling your father about the private things that go on in this house," Mrs. Porter told me after I had crawled into the back seat with Al and shut the door.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, terrified. "I'm sorry. I tell Dada everything and I was scared that –" Mrs. Porter chortled loudly at me, cutting me off.

"You tell your father everything?" She laughed. I nodded. " _Everything?_ " She asked me again and I nodded. "Then why didn't you tell your father about the abuse you claim he didn't know about if you tell him everything?" I froze, sweat running down my next as I tried to think of something to say. I was coming up short, though. Mrs. Porter snickered at me and I glared at her, suddenly very angry. Tears of anger burned in my eyes, my throat tight. How dare she talk like that?! She had no idea what she was talking about!

"Don't laugh at me," I warned her. She huffed.

"What are you going to do, Edward?" She teased. "Tell your _dada?_ " I blinked, those tears running down my face. I sniffled, wiping my face with my arm. I wanted so badly to be the angry, abrasive foster kid that I had always heard about on TV. If I was, I could protect me and Al from the Porter's two other foster boys. If I was, Al wouldn't have been molested by David. If I was, Mrs. Porter wouldn't tease us or punish us for shit we couldn't control. I wanted to be the angry, aggressive kid who beat up the people who looked at me funny, beat up the kids who beat Al up, and threw fits all the time. I wanted to be that kid so bad. But I wasn't. I wasn't that kid. I was the kicked puppy. I was the tender-hearted, big baby who just wanted his daddy. I was the soft kid who wanted to protect his little brother but couldn't because he was soft.

"That's what I thought," Mrs. Porter commented smugly. I took a haggard breath, crying harder as Al weakly rubbed my back. I didn't understand why Mrs. Porter was so mean. Mr. Porter, while not the best dude I had ever met, was at least nice sometimes. Mrs. Porter was downright terrible. She had been mean to me and Al since Friday night and I had no idea how long we would be staying there. I really didn't want to stay with them anymore, especially with Al's birthday coming up, but I had no idea how long it would take for child protective services to decide that Dada was a fit parent. Part of me was scared they never would. It wasn't exactly stacked in his favor. Seven years of abuse going unnoticed didn't exactly paint him in a good light. I knew that. I wasn't stupid. But I also knew that I wanted to be with Dada and with no one else. I didn't want to live with anyone but him, terrible things and all. The way the things were going though, I was scared that Al and me would be trapped in the foster care system forever.

We made it to the ER and Mrs. Porter did her best to start the process of Al getting seen. They took his vitals and she explained the situation, assuring the staff that it was okay that our dad was coming. I'm pretty sure that under normal circumstances, a visit with a parent needs to be supervised with the social worker, but I'm not sure. All I know is that both Mrs. Porter and Dad assured all of us that it was okay for him to be with us. I guess he got permission from Mrs. Davis since it was an emergency. I don't know. We sat in the waiting room, never speaking, just waiting for Dad to walk through the door. It took a few minutes but soon, he was there with a backpack. I stood up, Dad hurrying over and hugging me tight. I hugged him back, his cologne filling my brain and helping me to breathe again. The hug ended and Dada picked Al up and held him, Al resting his head on Dada's shoulder.

" _Daddy_ ," Al moaned softly, Dad sitting down and cradling Al like he was a baby. Dada rubbed his back, Al crying softly into Dad's shoulder. "It hurts so bad, Dada."

" _Shh_ , I know, I know," Dada soothed. "Dada's here now, Alphie. Dada's got you." Al shivered, crying and whimpering on Dad's lap. I laid my head down on Dad's arm, Dad kissing my hair and sighing sadly.

"I miss you," he told me softly.

"I miss you, too, Dada," I replied, my voice shaking. "I wanna go home."

"I know, baby," Dad said gently, Mrs. Porter huffing nearby. Dada's brow furrowed and he looked over at her. "Is something funny?"

"You don't have to put on such a good show," Mrs. Porter told him. "The social worker isn't here."

"Show?" Dada asked in confusion.

"There's no one to impress," Mrs. Porter said, picking at her nails. "You don't have to prove to me that you love these little snots. Tone it down."

" _Little snots?_ " Dad questioned, Al curling up in Dad's lap. "Excuse me, but don't talk about my sons that way."

"What do you care?" Mrs. Porter asked. "You allowed your wife to abuse them for seven years. Don't start acting like a father now." Dada stood suddenly, Al in his arms, and was staring at Mrs. Porter. His chest was heaving and I could tell he was angry.

"I did _not_ _allow_ Vanessa to abuse my sons!" Dada cried angrily. "She did it while I was away for work! She knew how to do it and hide it from me. I work out of town a lot with my job and had I known what was going on, things would have ended sooner! I have done my best to be a father to these boys since their mother died. They are my whole world! Everything I do is for them! I get up and go to work every morning for them. I help with homework, wash sheets when they have an accident, play with them, and try to prepare meals all for them. You have no idea what you're talking about! I love these boys and if you don't think I won't be reporting you first thing in the morning for that whole trash bag thing, you're wrong."

"Wow," Mrs. Porter breathed. "You really got worked up there." Dad glared at her and sat down, Al squirming in his arms.

"What's wrong, baby?" Dada asked gently.

"I h-have to g-go p-potty," Al whimpered miserably. "I'm leaking! I w-won't make it!"

"I'll carry you," Dada told him. "Are you in pain, sweetie?" Al nodded, pawing at his eyes as he started wailing softly.

"It hurts really bad!" Al cried pathetically. "I'm n-not gonna m-make it!"

" _Shh_ , it's okay," Dada assured him, standing. "It's okay. You'll make it, Al, but if you don't, Dada brought fresh jammies. I also brought a few Pull-Ups, just in case, okay?" Al nodded and I stood up.

"I'll go too, Dada," I announced. I didn't want to be alone with Mrs. Porter while Al got to spend time with Dada. Dad smiled warmly at me and nodded.

"Okay," he replied fondly. I followed after him, Al crying loudly the whole way.

"Is Al gonna be okay, Dada?" I asked worriedly. Dad nodded.

"I think so," he replied, carrying Al into the bathroom. "I think he has a bad bladder infection."

"Is that why it hurts so bad to pee?" I asked.

"Yes, honey," Dada told me, opening a stall door. Dad sat Al down on the floor along with the backpack. Al was crying, obviously in a lot of pain. Dada helped him get undressed and gently said,

"Try to go potty, Al." Al nodded and got on the toilet, crying softly.

"It hurts," he whimpered, wrapping his arms around his tummy again. "It hurts."

"I know it hurts, Alphie, but you're sitting on the potty so Dada needs you to try, okay?" Al's lip trembled as he nodded.

"I'll try," he replied, his voice shaking.

"Good boy," Dada praised. Al cried out wordlessly, obviously in pain. He was panting, tears running down his face as he tried to do what Dad told him to. He rubbed at his eyes with a hand and wailed,

" _I c-can't!_ It h-hurts!"

"Okay, baby," Dada soothed. "Okay. It's okay. You're going to see a doctor soon, Ally. It's okay." I watched as Dada helped Al get dressed, Dad showing Al his favorite pair of pajama bottoms that got left at home Friday by accident. I looked at the backpack, squatting down and rummaging through it. I gasped, finding something else that got left behind in Dada's feverish packing on Friday.

"Al!" I cried excitedly, grabbing it. I held it up for him to see, a smile spreading across his pale, sweaty face.

"Chico!" Al cried happily. "Dada, you found him!" Dada smiled warmly and nodded.

"I looked everywhere for him all weekend and found him tonight after Ed called." Dad explained. I handed the stuffed cat to Dad who then gave it to Al. Al hugged Chico, Dada standing up straight.

"Thank you," Al said softly.

"You're very welcome," Dada replied. "Let's get up. If you leak or have an accident, it's okay but you have to tell me so we can keep you dry and comfortable, okay?" Al nodded and stood up, Chico cradled in one of Al's arms. Dad helped Al pull up his pants and picked Al up without Al having to ask. Dada took my hand with his free one after putting the backpack on and we left the bathroom.

It didn't take much longer to be seen. Al laid in the hospital bed, moaning as Dad petted his hair and forced fluids in him. Mrs. Porter played silently on her phone while I sat on the bed with Al. I tried to get him to watch Netflix with me on the iPad Dada had brought, but he was miserable, so he didn't really want to. Besides, the hospital Wi-Fi sucked anyways and nothing would buffer. Anyway, the doctor came in and told Dada that Al not only had a severe urinary tract infection, but that he had kidney stones. The stones were moderately sized, and he had two in his left side and one stuck where the bladder is linked to the urethra (the tube pee comes out of). The other two hadn't made it into the bladder yet which explained why he was leaking but was having a hard time actually peeing. The doctor wanted to keep Al in the hospital until he passed the biggest stone which was stuck at the bottom of his bladder, so it was going to be a long night. They used sound waves (I think. Don't really remember) to break up the stones and gave him medicine and lots of water so he'd pee a lot until that one stone came out. The other two were smaller and could be passed at home. For a little while, Al was in and out of the bathroom, doing his best to go pee but only managing to dribble both on the toilet and in his pants. He was leaking a lot and in so much pain, the poor kid crying so much that night. Eventually, though, after hours of pain and waiting, he finally passed the big stone. It was nearly morning then, Al fighting sleep as the doctor prescribed medication to fight the infection he had. The doctor explained that Al was going to have some issues peeing for a couple days and that if he didn't pass the stones in a day or two or if the pain got worse, he needed to come back to the ER. Dada listened to the doctor intently while Mrs. Porter didn't seem all that interested. Finally, Al got discharged and Dad carried a very tired Al out to Mrs. Porter's car while I walked beside Dada, holding his hand.

"Okay," Dad sighed when we got to Mrs. Porter's car. He put Al on the ground next to me and bent over so he could look at our faces. "You boys get some sleep, okay? I'm going to call about the trash bag-thing and hopefully get you moved to a different foster home until you come home with me. Be good, okay?" I nodded, hugging Dad tight.

"Don't make us go," I whined. " _Please_ , Dada! We can be good!"

"Ed, honey," Dada said sadly. "I don't want you to go. I want you and Al to come home with me right now. But Mrs. Davis just has to be sure that I really didn't know about the abuse and that I can take care of you." I nodded, sniffling into Dad's stomach. Al hobbled over and hugged Dada, too, shaking violently.

"Daddy," he whispered. "I'm sick an' Mrs. Porter doesn't like me. She'll get mad if I have an accident or throw up. Take me and Brother home with you. Please?"

"Al, baby, I can't," Dada said, obviously on the verge of tears. He stroked Al's hair and said, "I know it's scary and hard to understand, but you can't live with me right now. Al, if Mrs. Porter is mean or punishes you for an accident or throwing up or anything like that, call me. If she or anyone else in that house hits you, refuses to feed you, touches you on your privates, or does anything that scares you, call me right away, okay? It's okay to call me, all right? No matter what she says." I pulled away and nodded, biting my lip. I knew that mean I should tell Dada about what happened between Al and David and all the times Mrs. Porter had hit us, but I was too scared to. Dad must have noticed I was anxious, though, and asked, "What's wrong?"

"It's a secret," I told him softly.

"Ed, you need to tell me, okay?" Dada pressed. Al quickly looked at me, pleading with me not to tell. We were both scared that David would kill us or something if we told so I decided to tell him what Tyler had said to us on Friday. I remember thinking that maybe when I got home, I'd feel safe enough to tell Dad that David molested Al, but instead I shoved that memory so far down in me that I didn't remember it until just a few weeks ago. I nodded and took a deep breath.

"One of the older boys told me he was gonna fuck me and Al," I admitted. "I, uh, don't know what that means, but I'm scared. Is it like bad touching, Dada?" Dada instantly looked over at Mrs. Porter and demanded,

"Did you know about that?" She shrugged, Al shaking violently.

"He's threatened a few other boys with that before," she commented like it was nothing. "No one has been raped in by house before."

" _Jesus Christ!_ " Dada exclaimed. "How the hell could you know that with such certainty?! I'm calling Mrs. Davis. My boys need to move foster homes. Now."

"Daddy, is it okay to tell you the truth?" Al asked softly. Dad pulled out his phone and nodded.

"It always is, Al," Dad told him.

"Mrs. Porter didn't feed Ed dinner on Friday because she said he was bad, but all he did was cry 'cause he was scared," Al said frantically, his words meshing together other as he spoke; "An' she made fun of me for missing Chico an' said that we weren't supposed to call you ever. An' when Ed was remembering something bad, she yelled at him an' made him feel more scared. She made him stand in the corner all night for wetting the bed an' then hit me an' didn't give me breakfast when I did. An' a big boy –" Dad put his hand on Al's shoulder, Al shutting up instantly. I always wonder now if Dad hadn't made him stop talking if he would have told Dada right then and there about his bad touch. I think he might of.

"Al, honey, it's okay," Dada assured him gently, Al on the verge of a meltdown. "It's okay."

"You really think you can have them moved in an hour?" Mrs. Porter scoffed.

"No," Dada answers her, dialing and holding the phone up to his ear, "But I think I can have them moved before lunch." And by noon, Al and I were moved to a new foster home.


	2. Chapter 2: Foster Homes Part 2

**ScarOnline:** I'M READY TOO I'VE BEEN SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS STORY FOR ALMOST A YEAR! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!

 **EmpathyfortheDevil:** Thank you! I'm glad you liked it and thought it was good! I hope you like this one!

 **Hey, guys! I didn't mean for two months to go by but with the holidays and getting ready for spring semester my life has been insane. I also hurt my wrist so typing has been a bit of a challenge. But I got this chapter ready for you guys! It's the second half of the boys' time in foster care and I'll warn you right now - it's very _long_. 25 pages on Microsoft Word to be exact. But I think you guys will like it and I really didn't want to split this into a third part. Anyway, the usual warnings apply so I don't have much else to say except enjoy and I'll see you next time!**

 **PS: If there's something in particular you want to read about, just tell me in a review or a message and I'll do my best to include it some way. You guys are awesome so if there's something you want to read, I'll try to make that happen!**

* * *

 _The first two ultimate rules of being a foster child that I had learned…. were never to become too attached to anyone and never to take someone's home for granted._

 _\- Dave Pelzer_

We lived in our second foster home the rest of the time we were in foster care, so about six days. Our foster parent was a middle aged, single woman named Annie Farris. Mrs. Davis drove me and Al to the house but Dada couldn't come. Mrs. Davis was worried that if Dad spent more time with us, it would only make everyone feel worse when we didn't get to go home together. Anyways, Annie lost lots babies while they were in her tummy and her husband died a couple years before we were placed with her. She wanted to open her home up to homeless, abandoned, and hurt kids and me and Al were her first foster kids. I was so scared walking up to the door with Al and Mrs. Davis, not knowing what to expect. We hadn't exactly had the best experience in foster care, so we were really scared. Mrs. Davis knocked on the door, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited to meet Annie. The door opened, a brunette woman with kind green eyes opening the door. Her face lit up when she saw us and she said,

"Hi, boys. My name is Annie. Please, come in." We walked in, Annie shutting the door behind us.

"Thank you for agreeing to take them on such short notice," Mrs. Davis said. "And on a Sunday. We have a lot to talk about since they are your first placement." Annie nodded and looked over at us. She took our bags, Al yanking Chico away from her so she couldn't take him.

"I'm sorry," she apologized sweetly. "That's a very nice cat. What's his name?" Al blinked, shaking his head and whimpering. "It's okay," Annie encouraged and I glared at her. This lady seemed like a person I could be angry at. She wasn't intimidating like Mrs. Porter and didn't have any big foster kids to push us around. I felt like even if I wasn't safe, I could have a _tiny_ ounce of control, so I was trying out the angry foster kid persona on Annie to protect myself and Al. The last thing I wanted was to get attached to her. I didn't know how long we'd be staying at her house and I didn't want me and Al to go through the heartbreak of becoming attached to Annie then have to leave a week or two later. I figured being angry and distant were the best way to guard my heart from that bitter reality of foster care.

"He doesn't wanna talk to you!" I snapped angrily. "And I don't, either!" Annie smiled at me which only made me angrier. Where were the snide remarks? The threats? The glares that warned me to knock it off or I'd regret it? I wasn't sure, but it didn't make me feel any better because I really had no idea what to expect from her.

"You must be the older brother," she commented. "Are you Edward?" I crossed my arms and continued to glare at her, Al nodding. Annie smiled at Al and said, "Then you must be Alphonse." Al nodded again and showed Chico to Annie, saying,

"This is Chico."

"What a great name!" Annie said enthusiastically. My glare softened, her tone reminding me of Mom a little. I didn't want her to remind me of Mom because I didn't want to like her. I just wanted to go home and was scared that I'd be betraying my family if I liked her.

"I'm going to show your room, okay?" Annie told us. "I'll carry everything for you." Al nodded, reaching for my hand. I uncrossed my arms and took his hand, following Annie to the hallway. She has a single floor ranch house, so all the rooms are on the same floor.

"This is my room, boys," Annie told us. "It's right next to yours and the bathroom is across the hall. If you need anything tonight, feel free to come get me. Now, this is your room." She opened the door and we walked inside. There were two single person cots in the room, two bedside tables, one chest of drawers and a closet. Annie set our bags on the cots and said, "I haven't been able to get the twin sized beds yet, I'm sorry. Is the layout okay, boys?"

"Um," Al squeaked. "Can we push the beds closer? I wanna be close to Brother."

"Sure, Alphonse," Annie replied. "I'll do that after I talk with Mrs. Davis. Did you boys eat lunch yet?" I glared at her and Al nodded.

"Dada bought us lunch!" I snapped at her, Annie simply smiling at me.

"Okay, I'm glad," she said cheerfully. "Make yourselves at home, boys. We'll talk and get to know each other after I'm done talking to Mrs. Davis." Al waved shyly at her and I rolled my eyes. Annie left and I went over to the bed with my bag on it and threw it on the ground. I sat down on the cot, Al inching closer to me.

" _What?_ " I spat. Al flinched, whimpering softly.

"I'm scared," Al cried pathetically. I sighed and patted the cot next to me. Al sat down, wincing because he was still in pain.

"I'm sorry," I told him. "I'm scared, too. It's time for your medicine." Al nodded and I got him his medicine. I yawned, sitting back down on the bed.

" _Brother_ ," Al whined and I shook my head.

"Al, I'm tired," I replied. "I'm gonna take a nap. You can take a nap with me if you wanna." Al nodded, clearly dejected, and I laid down. I was hoping that Al would nap, too, if he did but I fell asleep before I could see if he had.

When I woke up, I was scared. I didn't know where I was or what was going on. I sat up, realizing that the cot I was laying on was saturated. I started breathing funny, terrified that Annie was going to be like _her_ or Mrs. Porter when she found out I wet the bed. I quickly got off the cot and decided I was gonna try to hide it. If I could sneak to the laundry room and get the sheets and my clothes clean before Annie knew it happened, I wouldn't get in trouble. Al wasn't in the room anymore, so I was scared that maybe he got in trouble for something while I was napping. I stripped the bed and carried everything out of the room, guessing that Annie's laundry room was in the basement of the house. I tip-toed through the house, trying to be quiet so Annie wouldn't catch me.

"Edward?" I froze, dropping everything I was carrying. I stood in the hallway with soaking wet jeans, my heart threatening to explode. I looked up, Annie standing in front of me. "What are you doing? Are you okay?" Annie asked gently. I glared at her at first, but she just continued to look kindly at me. She sorta reminded me of Dada. She had the same look he always has when I'm scared or pee the bed. That really didn't make me feel any better, honestly. I was really trying to avoid getting attached so I kept almost hoping she'd start being mean to us. I figured that would make it easier when we had to go home. So far, though, that wasn't happening which made it hard for me to not like her. My lip trembled, the angry, withdrawn demeanor I was trying to have melted away and I started crying. I sobbed loudly, Annie getting on to my level.

"I-I w-wet the b-b-bed!" I sobbed, Annie hesitantly reaching for me. I flinched, darting away from her, Annie turning into _her_ in my head. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Please don't use the chain! I'll be a good boy!"

"Edward," said a calm, female voice. I shook my head, instinctively crying,

" _Mom!_ Mama, help me! _Please!_ " I was hyperventilating, the walls slowly closing in on me.

"Edward," the voice said again.

"I'm a bad boy, I'm a bad boy," I chanted, a warm hand resting on my head. I fearfully searched for who touched me, seeing a brunette woman with green eyes looking gently at me.

"Mom?" I whimpered, the woman smiling at me. I wasn't sure who was being so nice to me but I honestly didn't care. I flung myself on to her and cried, the woman gently rubbing my back.

"It's okay," she comforted. "You're safe, it's okay." I kept sobbing, the woman pulling me on to her lap. We sat on the floor together, me wailing like a big baby.

" _I want my daddy!_ " I screamed, the woman doing her best to comfort me.

"I know, I know," she said gently. "And in a few days, you'll be home with him again." I was starting to calm down, realizing I was sitting on Annie's lap, not Mom's. I wanted to push her away, but I didn't. I just kept crying.

"I'm sorry I wet the bed," I cried. "I was gonna keep it secret so you wouldn't get mad at me."

"Oh, buddy, I'm not mad at you," she assured me. "It was an accident. I know you didn't do it on purpose. You don't have to hide that from me." I shook my head, trying desperately to wipe my face even though I was still crying.

"I'm a bad boy," I insisted, Annie shaking her head.

"That's not true," Annie assured me. "I talked with your father and Mrs. Davis and they both think you're a very good boy. They don't think you're a bad boy and neither do I." I rested my head on her chest, feeling the safest I had felt all weekend. She hummed gently, my crying slowing to near stop.

"Annie?" I asked quietly after a few minutes.

"What is it, Edward?" She replied.

"Can I… what I mean is… I wanna help you," I told her. "I'm too old to pee in bed so I wanna help. Can I?"

"Edward, you're not too old to pee in bed," Annie said. "It was an accident but if you want to help me, you can. We can play a game together afterword. Do you like board games?"

"Yeah," I replied. "Al does, too." Annie smiled at me.

"Oh, yeah?" She prompted. I nodded and Annie asked, "What games do you like?" I wiped my nose on my hand, shifting on her lap so I could see her better.

" _Apples to Apples_ ," I told her eagerly. "That's a funny game. We also like _Marvel Legendary_ and _Settlers of Catan_."

"What about _Monopoly_?" Annie asked. I nodded and she grinned ear to ear. "You just like all types of games, don't you?" I nodded.

"Al, too," I added.

"Al, too," she echoed. "Okay, let's get you cleaned up and we'll put these in the washer. Do you know how to use a washing machine?" I shook my head.

"N-No," I said nervously, scared she was going to angry because I didn't know how. I stood up, my muscles tense as I waited to see if I was about to get punished or not.

"Perfect," she said cheerfully, standing up. "I can teach you how and then we can show your dad how grown-up you are when you go home in a few days." I nodded slowly, really confused. Why wasn't she calling me stupid or useless? Why wasn't she mad that I didn't know how to use the washing machine? Why wasn't I in trouble for peeing the bed? I was really confused and still really scared. Even though Annie seemed nice, I was scared that I was going to do something that would set her off. I was gonna break a rule I didn't know about and she would get upset. I was just waiting for it.

"Why don't you go change your clothes really quick and meet me here," Annie suggested. I looked nervously at the pile of wet sheets.

"Is it okay that I leave this here?" I asked anxiously.

"You can leave it," Annie told me. "We'll carry it to the laundry room together. Go change and try going potty." I nodded and dashed back to my room. I hurried to the bathroom and did what Annie told me to do, hurrying back out into the hallway to meet her. She smiled at me as I got closer.

"C'mon, buddy," she greeted, gathering up my blankets and sheets for me. Lamby fell out of the pile and I gasped. I hurried over and picked him up, cradling him like he got hurt or something. "What a nice lamb," Annie commented. I looked over at her.

"My mom got him for me when I was a baby," I told her quietly. "His name's Lamby. He got wet when I wet the bed."

"Let's go get him cleaned up, okay?" Annie said cheerfully. I nodded, still very nervous and unsure.

"Okay," I replied, walking beside her. Annie led me down the stairs to her basement and showed me the laundry room. She set the wet blankets and sheets on the ground and I held on to Lamby as she explained, "Okay, so we separate laundry by color and by type. We'll wash the sheets and blankets together and then do a separate load for your clothes. Make sense?" I nodded.

"What about Lamby?" I asked like a stupid little kid.

"He's safe to get washed with the blankets," Annie told me. "Now, let's get the blankets and put them in the washer." I helped Annie pick all the blankets and sheets up and we put them in the washing machine. "Next we pour the detergent," Annie took my hand and guided it, "here. Then we can start the washer and shut the lid. Easy, right?" I nodded and Annie poured the detergent into a cup. She handed the cup to me and I poured it where she showed me.

"Good job," she praised. I just stared at her, not sure what to do with her praise. I guess it made me feel good but at the same time, I was still struggling with liking her. Part of me didn't want to 'cause if she ended up being mean that would hurt, and I also didn't want to get attached 'cause then I'd get hurt when I got home. So, I really didn't know what to do. Annie closed the washing machine lid and taught me how to start it, my wet clothes in a basket nearby.

"Where's Al?" I asked quietly, Annie guiding me out of the laundry room.

"He's in my office," Annie explained. "I gave him some paper and crayons because he told me he likes to color."

"He does," I told her. "He's good at it, too."

"Do you like to color?" Annie asked me. I nodded.

"Yeah, but I'm no good at it," I replied. Annie grinned at me.

"You don't have to be good at something to like it," Annie told me. I shrugged so she said, "Let's go get Alphonse so we can pick out a game to play." I nodded and we made it up the stairs. Annie took me to the office and even with the door closed, I could hear Al crying. We walked in, Al sitting a corner of the room. Glass was shattered everywhere, Al cowering as the door opened.

"Al!" I cried, hurrying over. "Al, what happened?" Al kept crying, one of his hands pressed up against his chest.

"Al, are you okay?" I pressed worriedly, Al wailing loudly. I looked over my shoulder at Annie who was slowly approaching us. I was scared she was angry, so I blocked Al from her. "Leave him alone!"

"I'm not upset, Alphonse," she told him gently. "What happened? Are you hurt?" Al nodded, his eyes glued to the floor.

"I cut my hand!" He cried.

"On the broken glass?" Annie asked him, Al nodding.

"I'm sorry!" He wailed. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"

"I know, it's okay," Annie assured him. "Can I see your hand?" Al shook his head, whimpering how he was bad. I looked over at Annie and asked,

"Did Al break something?" She nodded and pointed to the desk.

"I have a collection of ceramic and glass elephants. It looks like he knocked one over and it broke." I looked over at the desk, lots of little elephants all over the desk and the shelf above it. I could also see Al's drawings, Chico, and some LEGOs on the desk. There were some scattered crayons, some on the desk and on the floor.

"I-I didn't mean to!" Al cried loudly. "Th-The crayons sp-spilled a-and I tried t-to clean th-them up a-and b-bumped the elephant! I w-wanted to c-clean it up a-and got hurt!" Annie sat cross-legged in front of Al, a smile on her face.

"That little guy was close to the edge, wasn't he?" Annie asked him. Al nodded, his hurt hand still curled up on his chest.

"Y-Yeah," Al whimpered, still crying.

"I've knocked him over before," Annie said. "I've broken my share of elephants. It's no big deal. Can I see your hand?" Al hesitated, but showed it to her. "Oh, my; I bet this hurts."

"It does," Al replied, not crying nearly as hard anymore.

"I have a first aid kit in the kitchen," Annie told him. "I can fix it up for you, okay?" Al whimpered, his lip trembling.

"I want Dada," he cried pathetically.

"I know you do," Annie said gently. "Can I please fix your hand?" Al blinked, a couple tears running down his face, but he nodded. Annie smiled and stood up, Al standing, too. She walked passed me, ruffling my hair as she walked by. My breathing stopped, fear trying to take root when I felt Al brush up against me, his little malnourished hand grabbing my sleeve. He set those fears aside as I took his little hand. I walked beside him, Annie asking Al about school. Al didn't say anything, so she asked me,

"Do you like school, Edward?" I shrugged, bubbles trapping my words. We got to the kitchen, Annie instructing Al to sit down at the table. I sat down next to him, Annie getting her first aid kit. She put it down on the table, Al wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"Show me your hand," she instructed. Al did, his bleeding hand resting on the table. Annie opened the kit and pulled out disinfectant and poured a little on Al's hand. He squirmed, gasping as it obviously was hurting. Annie smiled at him and said, "You're a very brave boy. I'm sure this hurts a lot." Al nodded and I watched her fix his hand curiously. Only Dada, Mom, Teacher, and Granny had ever treated us the way Annie was now. Neither me or Al had many friends and our teachers didn't really like us because our behavior and performance in school tended to fluctuate so much. The Porters didn't like us and, well, _she_ abused us. I guess I wasn't used to a grown-up, a stranger no less, treating us so nicely. It was weird and it kinda scared me. I still had no idea what, if anything, would set her off and expected her to become nasty at any time. Not to mention that her being so nice was making really hard for me to stay angry like I wanted to.

"There," Annie said to Al. I looked over, a band-aid on Al's hand. "All better." Al nodded and Annie smiled at him. Al smiled back, revealing his two missing teeth in the top row.

"My goodness!" Annie exclaimed excitedly. "You're missing teeth!" Al nodded, giggling softly.

"Yeah, but it's okay," Al replied shyly. "They're supposed to fall out."

"Oh, that's right," Annie said, though I could tell she was just acting like she didn't know that so Al wouldn't withdraw again. "Thank you for reminding me. You're a very smart boy." Al grinned again, Annie standing.

"Now, I was thinking we could have some dinner and play board games," Annie announced, putting her first aid kit away. "What do you boys think?" Al looked over at me before looking back at Annie.

"Uh, don't you get to pick what we do?" Al asked softly, obviously confused.

"Well, since we're all in the same house we should all have to agree," Annie told him. Al frantically looked over at me and Annie asked, "What game do you want to play? I have _Monopoly_ , _Life_ , _Sorry!_ , and _Apples to Apples_."

" _Monopoly_ sounds fun," I said. "What do you think, Ally?" Al nodded mutely.

"Okay," Annie said cheerfully. "I'll bring the game in and I can make dinner while we set it all up." I nodded and she left, Al and me sitting in silence until she got back.

We didn't play with Annie long. Neither of us were really in the mood to play and I did feel bad about it, but Annie just smiled at us and asked what we did want to do. I said watch movies so we ate dinner (Annie made chicken, mac and cheese, and mixed vegetables) and watched movies. Me and Al had a hard time eating, though. I wasn't really hungry to begin with and what little I ate made me sick. I thought she'd get upset but she never did. I thought she'd get upset when we didn't talk to her but she never did. Annie seemed okay with our silences, only asking us a couple of questions after the silence had gone on for a while. In between movies, I hesitantly asked what the rules of the house were and she didn't say much. There wasn't a laundry list like at the Porters'. Basically, Annie just wanted us to be honest with her. She wanted us to tell the truth and tell her when we felt scared, had an accident or something, or needed something. Okay, easy enough. She had some other basic rules like no stealing and no physical fighting – stuff like that. Annie also told me that we were allowed to watch TV, play outside, eat, take baths, sleep in, and brush our teeth. I realized, though, that was how Dad treated us and what some of his rules were. I was really weirded out by then, but kept my mouth shut. I liked how quiet and nice things had been and I wasn't going to ruin it with my big mouth.

Al fell asleep watching movies. Annie wanted to carry him upstairs, but I warned against that. I knew first-hand how scared Al could get when someone touched him while he was sleeping. And considering what happened on Friday night with David, I really didn't want Annie to attempt to carry him 'cause I knew that would bring up bad memories for Al. Instead, Annie gently woke him up and guided him to our room. I followed them, pretty tired myself, and we got ready for bed. We both put on our pajamas and Annie asked Al if he wanted to wear a Pull-Up to bed or not. Al declined, telling her that he hated them and that was that. Annie smiled and reminded him to go potty and brush his teeth. She didn't yell or force him to. I was really confused and was already feeling attached to her even though I had been doing my best to avoid that. I didn't want to like her or feel safe with her, but I did. Annie was just so… _nice_ and I felt like a shitty person. I felt like I was betraying Dada for feeling safe with her and even wanting to stay with her. It was all so confusing and I didn't know how to feel or what to think. Al went first in the bathroom and I went after him, Annie helping Al take his medicine before going to bed. By the time I got in the room, Al was sleeping again. The cots were pushed up next to each other as Al requested. They were so close that there was only a tiny gap in between. I walked over and laid down, falling asleep almost as soon as I hit the pillow.

A few hours later, I woke up with a violent urge to pee. I sat up and struggled to put my leg on, trying not to pee in the bed. I got my leg on and stood up, hurrying out of the room. Annie had left the bathroom light on for us, so I quickly found the bathroom. When I was done, I peeked out of the bathroom, half expecting someone to yell at me for being up like _she_ always would. _She_ used to lock me and Al in our room at night so we couldn't leave. I shuddered, tip-toeing out of the bathroom. A shrill, frightened scream filled the air, my heart beating funny. I ran back to my room, Al thrashing around on his cot. I was scared, Al screaming and moaning and being really loud. I could hear someone in the hallway and I started heaving. This was going to be what set Annie off. Al's nightmare was going to turn her mean. Annie peeked in, Al's nightlight glowing dimly enough that I could sort of see her face. She looked worried as Al continued screaming and she walked in.

"D-Don't be mad," I begged, my voice wavering as that fresh, nasty pee smell filled the room; "Oh, no." I frantically turned to Annie and said, "It was an accident! He's scared! Please don't be mad! Al's a good boy! Don't hurt him!"

"Edward, I'm not going to hurt him," Annie assured me gently. "He had an accident, that's all. I know that. Maybe I can pull him out of his bad dream." My lip quivered but I nodded. Annie walked over to Al's little cot, my baby brother still in the middle of what I'm sure was a terrible nightmare.

"Alphonse," she whispered. "Alphonse, it's okay. You're safe. Wake up, sweetheart." Annie touched Al's arm, Al freaking out. He screamed, kicking his legs wildly and hitting Annie in the chest. She was caught off guard and fell backward, Al rolling out of bed and hiding under it. I stood stunned, waiting for her to drag Al from under the bed by his hair for doing that. Annie got on her knees, though, and sat in front of the bed. Al was sobbing, cowering and shivering under the bed. I smelled more pee, so I knew he didn't finish going in bed. He just peed on Annie's floor as he tried to crawl backward away from her.

"I'm sorry," Annie apologized. I blinked, gasping a little. I had never really heard a grown-up besides Mom and Dad apologize to us for anything. But Annie, this stranger, did. "I shouldn't have touched you. I'm sorry, Alphonse. Please come out, honey. It's okay; you're safe. No one is going to hurt you." Al was wailing loudly for Dada, Annie inching closer.

"Get Chico," I told her quietly. Annie looked at me and I flinched, saying, "It'll help."

"Okay," she said, getting up to go find Chico. I crept closer, Al crying so hard I was scared he was going to barf which would only make him more upset.

"Alphie," I said gently, getting on my hands and knees. Al looked over, obviously not sure who was talking and he didn't know where he was.

"Go away!" Al screamed. "D-Don't hurt me!"

"Al, it's Brother," I tried again, "It's okay."

"I brought the cat," Annie told me, almost looking to me for guidance. She had done so well with us so far that I kind of forgot that we were her first ever foster kids. I forgot that she may not know what to do when one of the foster kids has a bad dream, kicks her in the chest, and pees all over her floor. I stared at the cat, unsure what to do or who should attempt to give it to him. We looked at each other, neither of us really knowing what to do.

"Um," I vocalized, clearly unsure. Annie smiled weakly at me and she said,

"I'll give him Chico. You step in if you feel like Alphonse isn't doing better, okay?" I nodded and Annie sat down in front of the bed Al was hiding under. She held Chico out to him, his frightened eyes darting back and forth between the cat and Annie.

"Here," Annie offered. "It's your Chico." Al's chin quivered, still looking back and forth between Annie's face and Chico.

"Wh-Where am I?" Al asked pathetically, the words hard to hear since he was sobbing so hard. "Wh-Where's D-Dada?"

"You're at a foster home with Edward," Annie explained gently. "Dada's at your house, sleeping. You're safe, Alphonse. No one is going to hurt you."

"Come on, Al," I encouraged weakly. "You can come out." Al swallowed hard and crawled toward Annie. He got out from under the bed, whimpering as he and Annie looked at each other. She was still holding Chico out toward him, Al hesitantly reaching out for Chico.

"That's it," Annie encouraged gently. "That's it. You can do it." Al lowered his hand and kept crawling toward Annie. I was shocked as I watched Al crawl up into her lap the way he did with me and Dada. He lowered his head on her chest and cried, Annie wrapping her arms around him.

" _Shh_ , it's okay," she whispered, holding him close. "It's okay."

"I w-wanna go h-home!" Al wailed. "I w-want D-Daddy!"

"I know, I know," Annie replied softly. I walked over to them and sat cross-legged next to Annie. I sighed sadly, my eyes glued to the floor.

"You okay?" She asked me. I shrugged.

"I'm tired," I told her. "I want to go home." Annie nodded.

"I know," she replied. "You're a good big brother, Edward. You really know how to take care of Alphonse."

"E-Ed," I corrected hesitantly, telling her what I liked to be called for the first time. I could feel that attachment growing inside of me and nothing I did stopped it. Telling myself I hated her over and over again in my head didn't work. Trying to be distant and mean didn't work. I would still try to prevent myself from getting attached to her the rest of the week, but I came to the realization that I was losing that battle. Telling her I liked to be called Ed was probably the first time I realized it. "Ed is fine." Annie smiled warmly at me.

"Okay, Ed," she said. "How do we get Alphonse to calm down?"

"He likes sucking his thumb, but Dada doesn't want him to 'cause he'll be twelve soon. Mama used to sing to him an' I do sometimes, but I suck at singing." I explained. "He also likes his hair petted."

"What songs does he like?" Annie asked.

"Uh, do you know _Mother Nature's Son_?" I asked. "It's a Beatles song." Annie chuckled at me.

"I do know that one," Annie told me. "Do you want to sing it with me, Ed?" I nodded.

"Okay," I said softly, sitting on my knees next to her. Annie started gently petting Al's hair and sang,

" _Born a poor young country boy, mother nature's son_." I joined in with her, my shaking voice unable to blend with hers, which was actually pretty nice,

" _All day long I'm sitting singing songs for everyone. Sit beside a mountain stream; see her waters rise. Listen to the pretty sound of music as she flies_." Annie hummed the next part, Al clinging to her like his life depended on it.

"I'm sorry," Al whimpered softly.

"For what?" Annie asked gently.

"I had an accident in bed," Al cried miserably, "and on your floor. I can stand in the corner all night if you want me to."

"Alphonse," Annie cooed softly. "You don't have to stand in the corner. You aren't in trouble. You just had an accident." Al looked up at her, blinking as tears rolled down his face. Annie smiled at him warmly and said, "Are you cold?" Al nodded so she stood up, picking Al up as she stood. "Then let's get cleaned up. Are you ready to change your jammies?" Al nodded, a thumb in his mouth. Instead of yelling or even correcting him, Annie just let him suck on it. I guess she knew he was doing it because he was scared and needed to feel safe. I don't know. Annie sat Al on the ground and picked out a fresh pair of pajamas for him.

"Does Al have to wear a diaper now?" I asked nervously. Annie shook her head.

"No," she replied. "He can wear a Pull-Up if he wants but he doesn't have to."

"But what if he wets the bed again?" I questioned frantically. "Won't you be so mad at him?"

"Ed, honey, I won't get mad because I know Alphonse can't help it," Annie explained to me gently. "Does your dad get mad when you or Alphonse wet the bed?" I shook my head, my chin quivering.

"No," I answered, my voice shaking. "But only bad boys pee the bed and we're bad boys." My lip trembled and I rubbed at my eyes. "We're bad boys! We're bad boys!"

"Ed, you're not bad boys," Annie told me as I started crying. "Your step-mom only told you that to be mean. Wetting the bed isn't something bad boys do. It's something lots of boys and girls go through. It's a normal part of growing up. Nothing you do makes you a bad boy, Ed." I stared at her, Annie smiling warmly at me. I twitched a little, wanting to hug her, but deciding not to. I didn't want to push my luck with her by hugging her. Even though she said all those nice things, I was still scared that she was going to hurt me and Al.

"Okay, Alphonse," Annie addressed. "Did you get dressed?" Al nodded silently. "Good job." Al put his arms up in the air. Annie understood, picking him up and managing to strip his bed one-handed. They walked out of the room, Annie somehow carrying both Al and the mess of saturated sheets and blankets, and I laid back down. I stared at the ceiling, waiting for Al and Annie to return. They came back just a few minutes later, Annie putting new sheets on Al's bed for him and wishing us both a goodnight as Al crawled up as close to me as he could and fell asleep.

Annie never did flip the switch I was expecting her to. Nothing we did turned her into the mean, nasty person I was expecting her to turn into when Al and me finally got on her nerves or were bad. When Al hoarded food after breakfast the following morning, Annie just assured him that she was going to feed him so he didn't need to hide food. When I was remembering something terrible Vanessa did to me, she didn't yell at me for hiding in a closet and crying my eyes out. When Al had an accident because he wasn't sure if he had to ask permission to use the bathroom the way Vanessa always had required of us, she was nice and he didn't get in trouble. When I dropped a plate and it broke, she smiled and helped me clean it up. No matter what happened or what we did, Annie was kind and patient. It was so unlike any adult had ever treated us, with very few exceptions, that we didn't really know how to feel. I was failing epically at my quest to not grow attached to her. While I could be crabby and angry sometimes, I also was very quiet and followed her around with Al on my back. We were fascinated by this grown-up who by all accounts shouldn't give two shits about us. We didn't know her. She had no reason to be this nice. But she was. She was nice to us and by the middle of the week, I had begun to see her more and more as a parent and less and less like an obstacle to going home.

Al, while he did seem pretty attached to Annie, was crying all the time. His birthday was coming up and he was scared and angry and all sorts of feelings because we both thought we wouldn't be with Dada on his birthday. On Wednesday, Al refused to get out of bed in the morning. He told me he was passively protesting. Said that he wouldn't get up until we were allowed to go home. I wasn't sure that would work, but I wasn't going to argue with him. We were both desperate to go home, despite how nice Annie had been, so I was okay with grasping at straws. Besides, it's not like we were going to school. Mrs. Davis had contacted our school and explained that we'd be out of school for a while, maybe the rest of the year. I went down the stairs and crept into the kitchen, Annie still working on breakfast. I stood in the doorway, waiting for her to instruct me on what do next. Being bossed around by _her_ for seven years taught me to wait to act until I was told – to stay quiet until I had permission to speak. Annie hadn't noticed me yet, so I just stood there, watching her cook. She was humming softly and it reminded me of my mom. Mom would always sing when she cooked. My chin quivered and I started crying silently. I felt so damn guilty that I liked Annie so much. I really felt like that by growing attached and liking her I was somehow spitting in the face of Mom and Dad. I was betraying them and breaking the family up all over again. It was such a complicated thing to feel and I honestly didn't know how to deal with it. I don't think anyone does. Annie turned around after a couple minutes and jumped a little when she saw me, gasping loudly.

"Goodness, Ed, you startled me," she told me, breathing heavily. "How long have you been standing there?" I shrugged and wiped my face with my arm so she wouldn't know I was crying. "Hungry?" I shrugged again. Annie smiled at me and waved me over to her kitchen table.

"Come here and eat," she invited. I nodded and walked over. I stood there and watched as she set the table. "Sit down." I shook my head.

"Bad boys don't sit at the table," I told her.

"You're not a bad boy, Ed," Annie told me. "It's okay. Sit down." I stood still for a minute before sitting down like she told me to. "You don't like milk, right?" I nodded again and she gave me some apple juice. "Where's Al?" She asked me.

"In bed," I informed her, my voice shaking a little. Annie poured herself a cup of coffee and nodded. She sat down across from me, took a sip, and said,

"He really didn't sleep well last night so we'll just let him sleep." I nodded, though I knew he wasn't sleeping. Annie took a bite, so I did, too. It must have been okay to eat if she was.

"So, are you planning on going back to school?" Annie asked me casually. I shrugged for the millionth time that morning.

"I don't know," I replied softly. "Maybe."

"Is something bothering you, Ed?" Annie questioned.

"Al's birthday is coming up," I told her. "Not this Saturday, but the one after that. May nineteenth."

"Ah, I see," Annie responded. "You're worried you won't be with your father by then." I didn't respond. Annie smiled at me and said, "Don't worry. You'll be home with him for Al's birthday." I scowled at her.

"I don't believe you," I informed her sourly.

"That's okay," Annie replied cheerfully. She took a bite and asked me, "Should I save Al a plate?"

"Probably not," I told her angrily. "He's not gonna eat it 'cause he's protesting."

"Protesting?" Annie questioned. "Protesting what?" My blood ran cold, my heart beating funny. I wasn't supposed to say anything. Now Al was gonna get in trouble because of me!

"I-I meant sleeping," I lied, my voice shaking. "S-Sorry. I'm st-stupid so I m-mix up w-words sometimes." Truth was, I did mix up words in my head sometimes. I read out of order and I tended to say words I didn't mean to say or said them out of order. If I was anxious, it got worse. So, I guess I wasn't completely lying to her.

"Mix up words?" Annie asked me. "Does that happen when you read?" I blinked and nodded slowly.

"Yeah," I replied in a whisper, my throat tight. I felt like I wanted to cry, I was so embarrassed. "Th-That's why I'm stupid."

"You're not stupid, Ed," Annie assured me. "Your step-mother told you that to make you feel bad about yourself. Does your father know?" I shook my head.

"No," I answered, feeling guilty. "I figured he'd think I'm stupid, too." Annie looked sympathetically at me and I shrugged, trying to look like I didn't care when I did. "Doesn't matter, though. If I read slow, it doesn't happen that much. People think I'm dumb 'cause I read slow but if I read slow, the words don't get mixed up. Talking's the same way. If I talk slow, my words don't get as mixed up."

"Ed, that's pretty neat," Annie told me. "You really are a smart kid. It's probably still a good idea to tell your dad that happens, though. Imagine how fast you could read if someone taught you new ways to read where the words didn't get mixed up!" I didn't say anything. Instead, I stared at my plate of food and shoved it away, not hungry. It was too much food for me to eat back then anyways. I could only eat baby-sized portions for a while otherwise I'd get sick.

"Not hungry anymore?" Annie asked. I nodded, feeling really shitty.

"Sorry," I said softly.

"That's okay, buddy," she assured me. "You ate what you could. Good job."

"Can I go check on Al?" I asked. She nodded and I got up from the table. I hurried to our room, Al still in bed though he was squirming.

"Hey," I greeted gently. "You okay?"

"I hafta go potty," he whimpered.

"Then stop protesting and go," I suggested, sitting on the edge of his bed. Al sat up and looked over at me.

"Did my protest work?" Al asked. I shrugged.

"I don't know," I told him. "I told Annie you were sleeping and then she said we'd be home before your birthday so maybe it worked." Al nodded.

"When are we leaving?" Al asked me.

"I don't know," I said again. "She didn't say." Al's face fell.

" _Oh_ ," he sighed sadly. "We're never going home, are we?"

"Al, I told you I don't know!" I snapped angrily, Al recoiling. "Stop asking me! Now, get up before you pee the bed again and make Annie mad!" Al's little bottom lip trembled and I glared at him. I shoved him away from me and yelled, " _Shut up!_ You don't get to cry! _She_ never hurt you the way _she_ hurt me, so you don't get to cry!" Al started to break down, the cruelty of my words hurting his feelings. I blinked, Al sobbing in the bed, and shook my head. I didn't know why I yelled at him. I still don't, honestly.

"Edward!" Annie's voice sounded from the doorway. I cautiously turned around, my body shaking. "You apologize to your brother right now, young man!" I nodded and swallowed nervously.

"Al, I'm sorry," I apologized. "I-I didn't mean any of that. Honest! I'm sorry!"

"Now, go stand in the corner for three minutes," Annie instructed. "Think about things you can say when your upset instead of yelling, okay?" I nodded and walked off, Al still wailing loudly. "It's okay, Alphonse. Ed didn't mean any of that. He's just upset and is having trouble expressing his feelings. He loves you, I promise." I stood in a corner of the room and took a shaky breath.

"I'm a bad boy," I chanted, Annie's voice fading away. I could still hear Al crying, but Annie wasn't trying to calm him down anymore. I heard the floor creak beside me and I glanced over to my left. Annie was standing there next to me, a concerned look on her face. I swallowed nervously as she asked,

"What are you doing?"

"I-I'm standing in the corner," I answered in a whisper, my voice shaking. "A-Am I doing it w-wrong?" My chest started heaving, panic overtaking every part of me. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! What am I doing wrong?!"

"Ed, calm down," Annie instructed gently as I fell into a full-blown panic attack. I shook my head, falling to my knees as it got hard to breathe. I didn't know if I was going to get in more trouble for standing in the corner wrong. After all, chanting those four terrible words over and over was the only way I knew how to stand in the corner. It was how I had done it since I was six, mostly in front of a mirror. I didn't know how else to do it. And in my panicked mind, I thought for sure I was about to be beaten for my mistake.

"I'm sorry!" I wailed, wheezing as I panicked. "I'm sorry! I'll be a good boy!"

"Ed, it's okay," Annie said calmly, trying to get me to calm down. I could hear the floor squeak behind me, tiny little footsteps approaching.

"Can I go potty?" It was Al, his little voice shaking.

"Go ahead," Annie told him. I started crying, wheezing because I was scared. I wasn't entirely sure where I was or who was with me. My brain had tricked me into thinking that _she_ was nearby, just waiting to beat me. I backed up against the wall, shaking as a female figure got closer to me. I shook my head, tears running down my face as they got closer. Pee started to soak my pants as I cowered, waiting for _her_ to start beating me for standing in the corner wrong.

"Edward," a soft voice said. "Edward, it's okay. Breathe, buddy. You have to breathe." That wasn't _her_ voice. I nodded, trying my best to start breathing normally. I shifted, my heart rate picking up when I realized I had peed myself. I cautiously looked up, Annie smiling warmly at me.

"I-I didn't mean to," I whimpered pathetically. "I'm sorry."

"Ed, honey, it's okay," she assured me. "You just had an accident." I nodded, my lip trembling.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, rubbing my eyes. Tears smeared all over my face, Annie delicately petting my hair so I wouldn't freak out again.

"It's okay, really," Annie told me calmly. "Keep breathing like normal. Just pretend that your daddy's here with you if that helps you feel safe. Go to a safe place in your head. When you feel better, you can change your clothes." I nodded, my lip trembling violently. I crawled closer to Annie and got into her lap, resting my head on her chest. Annie continued to pet my hair as I cried like a baby. She rocked me back and forth like I was a baby, the motion getting me to calm down finally.

"That's it," she whispered, reminding me of Dada. "That's it. Good job, Ed." I exhaled loudly, Annie petting my hair as I sat on her lap.

"What I said to Al," I began softly. "I didn't mean any of it. I protected him the best I could so _sh-she_ wouldn't hurt him like _she_ hurt me." Annie nodded mutely. "I don't even know why I said it," I went on. "I don't even remember why I was mad. But I wasn't mad at him. I just took it out on him. I don't know why. I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't mean it," Annie replied softly. "Al knows, too. It just hurts to hear, even when you know the person talking doesn't mean what they say."

"Am I in trouble?" I asked timidly.

"No," she answered. "You apologized and stood in the corner. You're not in trouble. I forgive you and so does Al."

"Can I go take a shower?" I asked. Annie smiled and nodded.

"Of course," Annie replied. I got up and hurried to my dresser, pulling some clothes out. Someone wrapped their arms around my waist and I knew it was Al. I hugged him back, Al sniffling loudly.

"You're okay," I told him softly. "I won't yell again, I'm sorry."

"I'm scared," Al whimpered, his voice shaking.

"It's okay," I assured him. "I love you, Alphie."

"Love you, too, Brother," Al replied.

"Al," Annie called from behind us. We both turned to look at her, a smile on her face. "Are you hungry?" Al stood shaking, clearly not sure if he could answer her.

"It's okay," I whispered to him. "You can tell her." Al swallowed nervously.

"Um, yeah," Al replied, his tiny voice shaking. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, honey, you don't have to be sorry for being hungry," Annie told him. "I saved you breakfast."

"D-Do I have to change out of my jammies?" Al asked.

"Only if you want to," Annie answered, still smiling. Al walked over to her and took her hand. She petted his hair, Al flinching and darting away. He ran behind me and hid, little shaking fingers struggling to hold on to my clothes.

"Hey," I whispered, "It's okay. She's gonna feed you." Al whimpered, his lip trembling.

"St-Stay w-with me," Al begged softly.

"I will, but I gotta shower first," I told him gently. "After I'm done I'll be with you." Al nodded, his chin quivering.

"O-Okay," he replied, swallowing nervously. Al walked back over to Annie, Annie smiling at him.

"I'm sorry I touched you," she apologized. "I sometimes forget that I need to ask first. I'm very sorry."

"Um, it's okay," Al squeaked, obviously nervous.

"Let's go eat so Ed can get cleaned up," Annie suggested. Al nodded and cautiously reached for her hand again. Annie took it and guided him out of the room. I sighed and walked to the bathroom. I really was missing Dada but tried not to think about that too much. I cried whenever I thought about Dad and I had been crying so much since Friday that I was starting to get annoyed whenever I'd start crying. I hated feeling so weak and helpless. I also hated feeling like such a big baby who wanted his Daddy and needed a security blanket so he wouldn't freak out. I guess I was tired of just being me, but that was nothing new. I hated myself for a long time by the time I was thirteen and that wasn't gonna change anytime soon.

I took a shower and did my best to not look at myself in the mirror afterword. Whenever I did that, I'd instinctively chant "I'm a bad boy" over and over until I was hoarse, and I really hated doing that. Even though I believed what I was saying was true, I didn't like saying it over and over again. It made me feel worse than I already did. I remember that as I stood naked in Annie's bathroom, my eyes were drawn to a razor sitting on the edge of the tub. That's the first time using a blade to hurt myself ever crossed my mind. I picked it up and stared at it, the urge to cut into myself getting stronger and strong. Just this once, I remember thinking. I pressed the razor against my skin and roughly dragged it a couple centimeters across my wrist. It hurt like hell, the razor not sharp enough to do the damage I was imagining in my head. I quickly rinsed the razor and put it back, examining my wrist. It stung as I exposed it to the air, looking more like a rug burn than anything else. I watched blood begin to bubble up from the wound and my chin quivered. It didn't make me feel any different. The only thing it did was give me that short little rush you sometimes feel when you do something bad. Now I was feeling the guilt part after doing something bad and it sucked.

I decided to lie to Annie about what happened to my wrist so she wouldn't get mad. I constructed a lie that I fell getting out of the shower and scrapped my wrist on something. I put a square of toilet paper over the bleeding wound as I got dressed and couldn't stop crying. Not only did I feel guilty that I hurt myself, now I was feeling guilty because I was going to lie about it. But in my head, lying was the only way to avoid a beating or getting locked in the basement. I had to lie. I had to. I finished getting dressed and walked to the kitchen, blood soaking the little, thin toilet paper and running down my wrist. I made it to the kitchen, Al eating silently while Annie sat near him and I hurried over.

"I hurt my wrist!" I cried frantically, Annie looking up at me. Her eyes fell on the soaked paper and she stood up.

"Sit down," Annie instructed quickly, hurrying to get her first-aid kit. I sat down, Al leaning over to look at my wrist.

"What happened?" Al asked quietly, Annie pulling a chair close and sitting in front of me.

"I, um, fell down," I lied. Annie didn't reply as she opened the kit, so I kept talking. "It was wet and I slipped. I scrapped my wrist."

"On what?" Annie asked and I swallowed nervously.

"Uh... The wall," I decided.

"My, you got yourself good," Annie told me and I knew she didn't believe me. I was about to panic when she simply patted my hand gently. "Honey, please be more careful. There's no need to hurt yourself. Okay?" My lip trembled and I shook my head.

"I'm a bad boy," I told her with a shaking voice. "I'm bad."

"No, Edward," Annie replied calmly, finishing up with my wrist. "You're not." I stared at my bandaged wrist as Annie stood up and walked to put the kit away.

"Do you boys want to go to the park?" Annie asked. "We can grab some lunch after if you want. Does that sound like fun?" I shrugged while Al nodded.

"I like the park," Al told her. Annie sat back down and prompted,

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Al echoed, a smile on his face. "Dada took us there a lot when we were little and sometimes he still does. I learned to ride my bike at a park by my house. Oh! And Mama liked to take us for walks in the park."

"My goodness," Annie enthused. "Your family sounds like a lot of fun. Why don't you finish eating so you can change? We'll get going soon." Al smiled his toothless smile, Annie smiling warmly at him. Al took a couple more bites before he decided he was done. When he was finished, he hurried to our room to change. Annie cleared the table as I sat at it, staring at the wood. My mind was in a dark place and I sorta wanted to tell her some stuff about the abuse. I was scared, though. I had never talked about it before. I tried to at the Porters' but no one cared or wanted to listen to me there. I had this feeling, though, that Annie _did_ care. That she'd listen to me. The abuse was on my mind so much that I felt like if I didn't talk about it with somebody, I'd explode.

"Annie?" I asked softly.

"Yes?" She replied in question, turning around to look at me.

"Can... Can I tell you a secret?" I asked nervously.

"Sure, Ed," she answered. "Go ahead."

"Vanessa, that's my step-mom, _she_... _she_ always used to chain me up t-to the dog house outside when I was bad," I told her. Annie blinked and I went on, "I used to have to play house with her and Al and I was the dog. I'd have to eat dog food, wear a collar and use the newspaper when I had to go to the bathroom. If I didn't, I got chained up outside and sometimes _she'd_ hit me with the chain." Annie stared at me and I shook my head. "Don't tell anybody I told you. It's a secret. I'm not supposed to tell."

"Ed, your step-mom isn't going to hurt you," Annie assured me. "You can tell people what happened. It's okay." I shook my head again.

"I'll get in trouble for telling," I insisted. "Please keep it a secret. _Please?_ "

"Okay, Ed," Annie agreed gently. "I won't tell, okay?" I nodded, feeling a little better. I was still scared, though, that I was in trouble for peeing myself earlier. I would be if it was _her_ , so I really didn't know any better.

"Um, okay," I said anxiously. "Do… do I gotta use newspaper now? Or do I not get to go at all? I'm better than Al at holding it, but I can't hold it all day. I don't wanna get in trouble again."

"Buddy, you're not in trouble," Annie replied. "If you need to go potty, you can go. I'm not punishing you for having an accident because you were scared. I won't punish you for any accident you might have. If you accidentally break a plate, I won't punish you. If you hold it too long and have an accident, I won't punish you. If you spill your drink, I won't punish you. Mistakes happen, Ed. Mistakes are allowed in my house. You don't have to use newspaper to go to the bathroom, I promise." Nothing she said made much sense to me. _She_ _always_ punished me for little mistakes and accidents. It was what I was used to. I didn't really believe her, but it did make me feel a little better.

"I'm gonna grab a book," I announced, standing. "I don't think I'll wanna play today."

"Okay," Annie said with a smile, Al walking back in. He was fully dressed and took my hand. "As soon as you get your book we'll go." I nodded and walked to our room. Al walked with me, a thumb in his mouth, and I gently pulled it away.

"No, Al," I scolded gently. "You're a big boy. You can't suck your thumb anymore. Okay?" Al nodded, Chico under his arm.

"Sorry," Al said quietly.

"It's okay," I assured him, finding the book I was reading. I can't remember what book it was. I pulled Al out of the room and said, "I don't want you to get in trouble for sucking your thumb."

"Would Annie be mad?" Al asked nervously. "I suck on it at night and she doesn't get mad."

"Yeah, but nighttime's different," I said. I walked back into the kitchen and Annie smiled at us both.

"Ready?" She asked. We nodded and followed Annie to the garage. She pulled out of the garage and soon, we were at the park.

I remember it was a nice day. The sun was out and there were a few kids at the park. They were mostly little kids, but there were a few kids close to Al's age. Al was scared to play at first, so he just watched me read. Annie, though, encouraged him to try and play without me. She took his hand and pushed him on the swing, Al finding the courage to go play by himself. I looked up at him running around and smiled. It had been so long since I saw Al really act like the little kid he was. He was only eleven when the abuse ended and only four when it started. All he knew was abuse. It shaped his whole world. To see him running around, laughing and playing with other kids, was incredible. I watched him for a few minutes before returning to my book.

"Ed," Annie addressed after a while. I lowered my book and looked at her.

"What?" I asked.

"I took a picture of Al and sent it to your dad," Annie told me. "Want me to read what he said?" I nodded so she read; "He looks so happy. I miss both my boys so much. I can't wait for them to come home."

"I miss Dada, too," I said softly. "D'you know when we're gonna go home?" Annie smiled at me.

"Friday," Annie told me, my breath getting caught in my throat. "Around noon, I think."

"Friday?" I questioned. " _Really?_ " Annie nodded and I felt like crying.

"It's going to be okay, Ed," she comforted as I sniffled loudly. "Your daddy's going to give you the biggest hug when he sees you."

"I'll tell him about how you taught me to do laundry," I said.

"He'll be so proud," Annie said. "Now, think about where you want to eat. I promised to get you boys lunch." I nodded and started to read again. Mean-sounding laughter was coming from the playground, but I filtered it out as I read. I managed to read for a little bit longer when I heard Al crying nearby. My ears were pretty much tuned to his voice so could hear him from pretty far away. I still can. Anyways, I left my book with Annie and followed the sound. I found Al hiding under a portion of the playground, crying loudly.

"Al?" I asked, kneeling down in front of him. "What's the matter? Are you hurt? Did you get scared?" Al looked up at me, snot and tears smeared all over his face, and he shook his head.

"I-I... No," he whimpered. "I h-had an accident."

"Oh, _no_ ," I breathed. I was scared that if we told Annie what happened, we wouldn't get to go home on Friday. Part of me still thought we were in the foster home because we were bad, so I assumed if we were bad, we wouldn't go home.

"Th-The kids all laughed at me," Al cried pathetically. "They d-don't wanna play with me anymore 'cause I'm gross."

"Al, we were supposed to go home on Friday," I told him frantically. Al blinked, his chin quivering, and I went on, "But now we won't be able to! You were bad! Why are you always so bad?" I was panicking, Al crying even harder. "We're never gonna go home!"

"I-I'm s-sorry," Al whimpered, tears rolling down his face. "I d-didn't mean t-to."

"It doesn't matter!" I yelled, standing up. "Maybe if I tell, we won't get in as much trouble and we can still go home."

" _Ed!_ " Al cried. "Please, don't tell!"

"I have to, stupid!" I told him. I hurried toward Annie, leaving Al hiding under the playground. I could hear him crying and I paused. I turned around, feeling guilty about what I said. I walked back over and kneeled down in front of him.

"I'm sorry," I said gently. "I shouldn't have called you stupid. You're not bad, Alphie. I'm sorry." Al's lip trembled and I crawled over to him. I gave him a big hug, Al shaking in my arms. " _Shh_ , it's okay. It's okay." I petted his hair, trying to get him to calm down.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry!" Al wailed. "I-I'm s-so sorry!"

"It's okay, you didn't do anything wrong," I assured him. "C'mon, buddy. Let's go home. Okay?"

"We g-get to see Daddy on Friday, right?" Al whimpered, wiping his face.

"Yeah, of course," I told him, even though I wasn't so sure. We crawled out from under the playground and I took his hand. We walked over to Annie who was on her phone and I tugged on her sleeve.

"What, buddy?" She asked, a smile on her face.

"Um, please don't be mad," I begged her, "But Ally had an accident. He didn't mean to, I promise! Please let us go home on Friday! We'll be good until then! Promise!"

"Oh, honey, Al wasn't bad," Annie assured me. Al started crying harder, Annie patting his hair. "It's okay, Al. It's okay. We'll go home."

"He's sorry," I said, beginning to freak out. "He's sorry! He didn't mean to!"

"Ed, he's not in trouble," Annie said gently. "You're both safe. It's okay. You're going to go home with your father on Friday. Nothing you do between now and then won't change that." I stared at her, my chin quivering.

"Can we still eat?" I asked miserably.

"Of course," she answered cheerfully. "Let's go so Al can feel better." Al lifted his arms in the air and Annie picked him right up. He was really small for an eleven-year-old, so people could pick him up and carry him around. He rested his head on her chest and sucked his thumb, Annie simply smiling fondly at him.

"You're okay," she told him, trying to make him feel safe as she carried him to the car. "You're okay. You'll get cleaned up and feel all better."

"Then we can eat," I added. Annie nodded.

"That's right," she affirmed and I smiled proudly like a dumb little kid. She walked to her car and I followed after her, Annie asking,

"Did you decide what you wanted to eat?"

"Al should pick," I said.

"Okay," Annie said with a smile. "Where does Al want to eat?" Al whimpered, his thumb still in his mouth, and shook his head.

"Um, I don't think Ally wants to eat out," I told her.

"That's fine," Annie assured me. "What kind of food do you boys want?" I shrugged. I wasn't eating a ton and most food made me feel sick, even the stuff I liked the most.

"Soup," Al whimpered softly behind his thumb.

"How does Panera sound?" Annie asked. "They have one with a drive-thru in Morton."

"Okay," I agreed.

"Then let's run home, get Al cleaned up, and head over there," Annie said cheerfully. I got in the backseat and watched as Al refused to let go of Annie.

"Honey, I can't hold you and drive, I'm sorry," she told him gently. "Hold your brother's hand, okay?"

" _No_ ," Al whined.

"Alphonse," Annie addressed gently, "We can't go home until you let go. I'll be in the front seat and Ed will be right next to you. As soon as we get home, I'll hold you but I can't hold you and drive."

"Okay," Al said softly. Annie put him next to me in the backseat and he crawled over to me. He tried to crawl up in my lap and I said,

"You can't sit on my lap. You gotta wear a seatbelt, right?" Al nodded and sat down next to me in the middle of the back seat. He put the seatbelt on, staring as his lap. I felt guilty for yelling at him at the playground and I felt bad that he couldn't sit in my lap, so I said,

"I'm sorry." Al looked over at me, his eyes puffy and red from all the crying. "Dada wants us to wear seatbelts, yeah?" Al's lip trembled but he nodded, sniffling loudly.

"Your dad wants you boys to be safe, doesn't he?" Annie asked. We both nodded, though I could feel anger rising up in me. It wasn't really rational, but I remember thinking why did it matter what Dad wanted? It wasn't like we were living with him and I really felt like Dad hated us and didn't want anything to do with us. I mean, how could he love us? We were just bad, dirty, disgusting boys. I wouldn't blame him if he didn't love us. But I got angry at the very mention of Dad, crossing my arms and huffing loudly. I felt Annie's eyes on me and she asked,

"What's the matter?" I clenched my jaw and shook my head.

"Why does it matter what he wants?" I muttered. "He hates us and I hate him! And I hate you! I hate you!" Annie blinked, her hand on her keys.

"Edward," Annie said gently. "What's bothering you?"

"Shut up!" I yelled. "Shut up! Don't talk to me!"

"Okay, okay," Annie replied, starting the car. "You take some time for yourself." I made a face at her, Al timidly looking over at me. I glared at him and Al flinched, quickly looking away from me. Annie drove us home and I was fuming in my seat. I was _so_ angry and honestly had no reason to be. All she did was mention Dad. Thing was, though, I was starting to feel so safe in Annie's house that even though I knew I was going home with Dad on Friday, I sort of didn't want to. I didn't want to go back to the house I was abused in. I didn't really know how to express that, though, so I was angry. As we got to the house, I was so angry that I was about to explode at her for no good reason. We got of the car and Al went to get changed. Annie and I were sitting in the living room. We weren't talking 'cause I think she knew I needed to be left alone. However, after a couple minutes Annie gasped and said,

"I'll be right back." I glared at her as she walked away. Annie wasn't gone long, returning after just a minute or two. She had something behind her back and I stiffened up. I had no idea what she was going to do.

"Edward, I have a present for you," she told me. I glared at her, Annie revealing what was behind her back. "It's a journal. I have one for you and one for Al. I thought it might help you deal with some of your confusing feelings." I suddenly stood up and started to yell at her;

"What the hell do you know?! You're just a fake mom! I don't want a dumb present from you! I hate you and I hate Dada!" Annie just stood there as I ripped the journal out of her hands. I ripped the cover off and threw the book down, rushing toward her. I pushed her down, yelling what was basically nonsense at her before storming toward my room. Al was walking to the living room and I pushed him down, too, Al just sitting on the floor as I slammed the door.

I was so angry and I began throwing things that were laying around the room. Lamby, shoes, Chico, basically anything I could get my hands on. I was so angry that this nice lady who had opened her home up to me and Al dared to be nice to us. She dared to offer us ways to cope and love on us while Dada dealt with courts and social workers. Annie was kind and that was a terrible offense sometimes. I tugged at my hair, running out of things to throw. That's when I paused, my chest heaving, and replayed what happened in the living room in my head. I sunk to my knees, horrified that I was so mean. I couldn't believe that I rejected a gift, that I pushed Annie, said I hated her and Dada when that simply wasn't true, and pushed Al who had literally done nothing but be in the hallway at the same time as me. I started to cry loud, ugly sobs, wrapping my arms around my middle. I was terrified that my outburst had turned Annie against us. That my ugly behavior that had popped up sporadically that week would finally cause her to treat us the way I expected to be treated by adults. I expected to be treated like shit, abused, and blamed for everything. I expected to be isolated, locked up, and beaten for everything, accidents included. I thought now she'd see that I was nothing but a bad boy who did deserve the abuse I had endured.

"Edward." I looked up, the door cracking open a little. Annie's face was in the crack and I shook my head, trying to scoot away from her. She opened the door and cautiously approached me as I tried desperately to get away.

"N-No," I panted, terrified. "I'm sorry. St-Stay away."

"I know you're scared and angry," Annie told me gently. "I know this has been so hard on you and Al." I nodded frantically.

"Yeah," I agreed, my voice shaking, "an-and I'm scared. I-I don't hate you, honest."

"Oh, honey, I know you don't," Annie assured me as I started sobbing again. "I know."

"I-I'm sorry!" I sobbed, "I'm sorry! I ruined the book! I'm sorry!"

"It's okay," Annie told me softly. "I probably should have waited for you to calm down before giving you a present. That's my fault, I'm sorry." I nodded, crawling closer to her.

"A-Are you h-hurt?" I asked her miserably. Annie smiled and shook her head.

"I'm okay," Annie said. "I'm more worried about you. If you want, you can tell me about your feelings. Do you think that would help?" I sniffled and shrugged.

"I-I don't know," I stuttered nervously. "I, uh, I'm not s-supposed to. Telling people is against the rules."

"Telling people what?" Annie asked me. I started wheezing, shaking my head a little.

"E-Everything," I replied. "Everything. I can't tell people what happened. I can't tell them anything. It's bad."

"Including your feelings?" Annie questioned. I nodded.

"It's bad," I repeated miserably. "N-Nobody cares about a bad boy's feelings."

"I care," Annie told me gently. "I care about your feelings, Edward. You are not a bad boy and I care about your feelings. Your daddy cares about your feelings, too. So does Al. It's okay to tell people how you feel or tell them about what happened to you. It's okay." I shifted, swallowing nervously 'cause I wasn't sure it was okay. I heard what she was saying and I did trust her, but I didn't really know what to believe. I had been wanting to tell Annie things all week and any time I did, I felt like I had broken an unspoken rule that Vanessa had beaten into my head – tell no one.

"I…." I trailed off, not sure what I wanted to say. "I just feel… bad. I feel so bad! My insides feel dirty! I don't know how to explain it! I just feel bad!" I started crying again, Annie sighing softly.

"I know you do," she comforted. "I know you do. It's okay to feel bad, Ed. It's okay to feel bad and angry and scared."

"It is?" I asked pathetically.

"Of course it is," Annie assured me gently. "You have been through so much."

"I'm bad," I sniffled. "I deserved it."

"No, you didn't," Annie said. It was weird. Her voice was stern but gentle at the same time. It was like she wanted to make sure she knew it wasn't my fault and that I didn't deserve it. Neither of us did. "Honey, you and Al were little kids when the abuse started. No child deserves what _she_ did to you boys. No bad behavior deserves what you went through. What _she_ did to you is wrong, _period_. I know it's hard for you to understand but you didn't deserve what happened."

"I feel bad 'cause I didn't keep Al safe," I cried. "He still got hurt an' nothing I did helped!"

"Oh, Ed, honey," Annie sighed. "Buddy, you tried so, so hard to keep him safe and he knows that. You are a good big brother and you did your best. Your step-mom was the adult and _she_ had all the power, didn't _she?_ " I nodded.

"Y-Yeah," I whimpered.

"It's hard to do anything when someone has all the power and is being so mean to you," Annie told me. "Plus, you're a kid. You did all you could, honey. Al knows that, I know that, your daddy knows that." I sniffled loudly and crawled closer to her. I was scared that if I crawled into her lap, she'd get mad at me. I stopped right in front of her, shaking violently, and Annie smiled warmly at me.

"It's okay," she encouraged. "Come here, sweetheart. I'll hold you if you want me to." I nodded and crawled into her lap. Annie held me close, rubbing my back and whispering softly in my ear.

"I love you," I whispered quietly, my heart slowing to a near stop. Was it okay for me to say that? I didn't know. I really didn't know. Even if I wasn't sure if it was okay for me to say that, I knew I felt it. At least, I thought I did. I really didn't know I felt. All I knew was that for the first time since I was a little kid, I felt safe. Annie made me feel safe. I did love her, but it was hard to admit that and even scary. I got tense, Annie pulling away a little. I started to shake, terrified I said something wrong.

"Wh-What did I do wrong?" I whimpered.

"Nothing, Ed," Annie assured me. "Nothing. I told you that it's okay to tell me how you feel, right?" I nodded, my lip trembling.

"Yeah," I whispered, my voice shaking.

"Then you didn't do anything wrong," Annie concluded. "I love you, too, Ed." I squirmed. That made me feel worse. I felt like I was betraying Dad and my mom by loving her and if she really loved me back, I _really_ felt that way.

"What about Dada?" I croaked.

"What about him?" Annie asked.

"Won't loving you hurt his feelings?" I asked miserably. "Am I breaking up my family all over again?"

"Of course not," Annie told me. "Your mommy is still your mommy. Loving me doesn't change that. Same with your daddy. Your daddy and Al are your family. Nothing can change that, not even how you feel about me, I promise."

"Can you join our family?" I asked. "Like, can you marry my dad and be my new mom?" Annie gave me a sad look and shook her head.

"I don't think so, Ed," Annie apologized. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."  
"Why not?" I asked pathetically.

"It just doesn't work that way, buddy," Annie said. "I'm your foster mom, that's all. I'm in your life for a little while and that's all. I know it's sad and confusing and a little scary but I can't marry your dad."

"Do you not love Al?" I asked.

"Sweetie that's not why," Annie said. "I love Al, too."

"Then do you not love Daddy?" I questioned, not understanding why she couldn't stay in my life.

"Ed," Annie sighed, "Listen to me. It's not that I don't love your family because I do. Very simply put, I can't marry your daddy. It has nothing to do with not loving you guys but everything to do with that it's not… _appropriate_ for me to marry your dad and stay in this role. I need to stay in my house and help other foster children. Does that make sense?" My lip trembled but I nodded.

"I guess so," I replied miserably. "Is this your job? Helping kids?" Annie smiled warmly at me.  
"You can think of it like that," Annie told me.

"I want you to keep your job," I told her. Annie nodded and I rested my head on her chest. I sighed contently, Annie rubbing my back.

"Can I get I new journal?" I asked in a whisper a few minutes later. I felt Annie nod.

"Sure, sweetie, sure," she answered, holding me close until I felt safe again.

That evening was quiet compared to the afternoon. We ate lunch and Annie bought me a new journal. I wasn't sure what to write at first, so I just colored angry-looking blobs of color. I found that even something that simple did help make me feel a little better. Al and I played a little before dinner and Al, being pretty clingy toward Annie, helped her make dinner. Well, sort of. He mostly stood silently by her side, sometimes she held him, and occasionally he'd help out. We ate dinner and I helped clean up. After dinner I colored some more, Al sitting on Annie's lap and watching a movie. That night, Annie got us both ready for bed and sat on the edge of my bed, reading us _The Velveteen Rabbit_ until we both fell asleep. Later that night, I woke up from a bad dream and was almost peeing myself in bed. I struggled to get out of bed not sure where I was. I shakily put my leg on and got up, hurrying to the door. I was breathing heavily but wasn't sure it was okay for me to go to the bathroom. I couldn't remember if _she_ had locked me up or not. I opened the door all the way and stepped out of the room. I was shaking so badly 'cause I had to pee so bad and I didn't know what would happen to me if I didn't make it. I was crying silently, walking all hunched over as I tried to make it to the bathroom. I started peeing in my pants, freezing up as I realized I wasn't gonna make it. I started crying loudly, Annie's bedroom door opening almost immediately after I started to cry. She turned the hall light on and saw me standing in the hallway, peeing myself.

"Edward, honey, what's the matter?" She asked me. I shook my head and all I could do was cry. Annie started to walk over and I started to shake. I was so scared I was in trouble. I was crying pretty hard, Annie bending over once she was close enough so we were eye-to-eye. I looked away, Annie so close to me I could feel the heat coming off her body.

"Ed, what happened, sweetie?" She asked gently. I shook my head again, scared to tell her, but I started word vomiting anyways;

"I-I had a b-b-bad dream th-that D-Dada didn't w-want me an-anymore! He w-was mad 'cause I w-wanted to st-stay with you! 'Cause I do! I don't w-wanna go home! _She'll_ be there an' I don't wanna go! I w-woke up a-an' I had to p-pee really b-bad an-an I al-almost went in bed 'cause i-it was h-hard getting my leg on an-an' I tr-tried to g-get to th-the bathroom b-but I c-couldn't m-make it! I'm s-sorry!"

"Edward," Annie cooed softly. "Honey, that sounds like an awful dream. We can call your dad. Want to call your dad?" I blinked, nodding slowly. But I was confused. Why wasn't she mad at me for peeing all over myself and the floor? Why wasn't she beating me? Why wasn't she yelling at me and locking me up? Why wasn't I sleeping on a trash bag and standing in the corner all night? It didn't make any sense to me.

"A-Am I in tr-trouble?" I whimpered softly. "I d-didn't m-mean t-to."

"You're not in trouble," Annie told me. "It was an accident. It's okay. Do you want to call your daddy?" I nodded again, reaching toward her. "Want me to pick you up?" I nodded a third time and she picked me up. I wrapped my legs around her middle, sucking on my thumb a little.

"Can I get my blankie?" I asked softly.

"Sure," Annie answered. She quietly carried me into the room I was sharing with Al and picked my blankie up for me. She handed it to me and I started to suck on it. She carried me to the living room and she sat down on the couch, me on her lap. She grabbed her house phone and dialed, holding the phone up to her ear. It took a minute or two but she did say,

"Hello, Victor? Hi, it's Annie. I'm sorry for calling so late but Ed wants to talk to you. He's had a tough day and had an awful nightmare. Okay, here he is." Annie handed me the phone and I took it, my blanket still in my mouth.

"Daddy?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"Hi, baby," Dad said and he sounded a little groggy. I felt bad for waking him up, but I wanted to hear his voice. I had talked to him twice, I think, at Annie's but I never knew what to say. I would talk a little about my day and talk about Al and then give Al a turn.

"Dada, are you mad at me?" I asked nervously.

"Mad at you?" Dad questioned. "For what?"

"I… I love Annie," I admitted, crying. "I like it here! I wanna stay. I don't wanna go home. I'm sorry!"

"Ed," Dad said softly over the phone. "Ed, it's okay. It's okay. I'm not angry, I understand. You feel safe, don't you?" I nodded.

"Y-Yeah," I whimpered.

"Well, Dada's been working hard to clean our house so you feel safe here," Dada told me. "Annie told me what her rules are and how things have been going and I'm doing my best to do the same things at home so you and Al feel safe when you get here. Does that make you feel better about coming home?" I nodded a little.

"Yeah," I said, "Are you mad that I love her?"

"No," Dad replied. "I'm not mad at you for loving someone. It's okay that you love her. I'm glad you do. I'm glad you feel safe and that Annie's taking such good care of you and Alphie. Was that what your dream was about?" I nodded again.

"Uh-huh," I said. "It w-was scary."

"I'm sure, little man," Dada comforted. "It sounds awful."

"I-I c-couldn't make it to the bathroom after," I told him, crying.

"Ed, honey, that's okay," Dad cooed. "That's okay. I know you tried. Annie knows, too."

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I told him, feeling so damn guilty about everything.

"It's okay, sweetie," Dada said. "It's okay."

"I miss you," I cried. "I wanna come home now!"

"I know you do," Dad comforted gently, Annie rubbing my back. "I know you do. But right now, it's late and a little boy of mine needs to get dry and try to go back to sleep." I shook my head.

"I can't," I cried. "I wanna sleep with you!"

"Little man," Dad said softly, using Mom's nick name for me the second time that night, "I know you do. It's not time for you to come home yet. Just a little while longer and you and Alphie can come home."

"Alphie misses you," I whimpered.

"I know he does," Dad replied. I yawned, Dad saying, "Someone sounds sleepy." I moaned and rubbed my eyes, though I shook my head.

" _No_ ," I cried. I didn't want to stop talking to Dada. I wanted to curl up with him in his big bed and have him hold me until I fell asleep. But I couldn't have that.

"Honey, you need to put on some dry jammies and get some sleep, okay?" Dada said gently. "We can talk again tomorrow if you want but right now you're sleepy and you need to go back to bed." I groaned and shook my head again, Annie scratching my back.

"Ed, you're so sleepy," she told me. "We need get you cleaned up and back in bed. We'll call your daddy tomorrow." I didn't want to, but I nodded.

"I gotta go to bed, Dada," I said reluctantly.

"Okay," Dad said. "We'll talk soon. Good night, I love you."

"I love you, too," I told him, handing the phone to Annie.

"Victor? Yeah. Yeah, I know. They're both doing very well, they really are. This is a hard thing to go through, especially when it's so short lived but they're doing well. _Hmm?_ Well, I suppose we could if the boys are up for it. Al had a tough time today, too, when we left the house. He's very withdrawn, I'm concerned. You may want to consider…." My eye lids started drooping and I couldn't hear the rest of her conversation. I vaguely remember Annie carrying me back to my room and helping me get dressed. I remember she struggled with dressing the prosthetic, so she just took it off and held me as she got me changed. She laid me down in bed and tucked me in, wishing me a good night. We'd be woken up in about an hour, though, by Al who would have a bad dream and that'd be the pattern the rest of the night.

The rest of our time there was hard. We were both tired, cranky, and ready to go home. Neither of us were sleeping particularly well, so we were exhausted. I remember that Dad was trying to arrange a short visit that Thursday to boost our spirits before going home but it didn't happen. Al couldn't leave the house that day because he was just too anxious. Annie decided that it would simply be too painful and stressful if we saw Dad, so he didn't come over or anything. That made me mad, so I lit a match and set some of her clothes on fire. That was the first time I'd ever done anything like that and it wouldn't be the last. I don't remember a ton about it, honestly. I just remember feeling so angry that I could barely see. My blood was whooshing in my ears and I didn't know what to do. I remember running to the laundry room, grabbing random clothes and hurrying outside. I set them on fire and immediately regretted it. I put them out, but it was too late. They were ruined. I remember that Annie sat me down and talked to me about my feelings and had me write her a letter that apologized to her. I remember secretly loving the feeling I had when I set the stuff on fire and that feeling would keep me doing it for almost a year.

That night was just as bad as the nights before it, but I don't remember much specific about it. I just remember feeling scared and alone, like I always did during that time. That morning we got dressed and Annie helped us get packed up. Annie seemed excited, but I could tell part of her was sad. I knew that she had always wanted to have kids but it just never happened for her. Since we were her first placement and we were only there less than a week, I think it was hard for her to give us up. But she never really let on to that or said anything. She held her head high and let us go, making the transition as easy as it could be for all of us. Just before noon, I was sitting by the window of her living room, watching anxiously for Dada to come. I didn't realize the social worker would be the one to come get us. Annie got me to nibble on some soft food but I didn't eat much. Al was sitting next to me, Chico on his lap and shifted nervously. I figured he should try going potty again, so I said,

"Al, try going potty before Dada gets here," I instructed. Al nodded and got up, hurrying to the bathroom. Annie came into the room and sat down. I glanced over at her but quickly looked out the window.

"You're excited, huh?" Annie asked me. I nodded.

"Yeah," I replied. "Al's going potty before we leave."

"Did you try going to the bathroom?" Annie asked me. I nodded.

"A little while ago," I told her, my brow furrowing when I saw Mrs. Davis' car pulling into the driveway. "What's she doing here?" I questioned frantically, terrified we were just moving homes and not going home.

"Mrs. Davis is coming to take you home," Annie explained calmly.

"Why isn't Dada here?" I cried.

"Honey, it's Mrs. Davis' job to oversee this process, okay?" Annie told me. "She's taking you home, I promise." My lip trembled and I turned away from the window.

"What if she doesn't?" I asked miserably, Al coming back.

"Is Dada here?" Al asked, the doorbell ringing. I shook my head, starting to cry as Annie stood up to get the door. Al's brow furrowed and he walked over to me.

"Mrs. Davis is here," I told him miserably. Al frowned and looked over at the front door. Annie returned to the living room, Mrs. Davis behind her.

"Hi, boys," Mrs. Davis greeted. "Are you ready to go home?"

"H-How do I know you're taking us there?" I questioned miserably.

"Where else would I take you, Edward?" Mrs. Davis asked me gently. I shrugged.

"I don't know," I mumbled.

"Edward, your father has been cleared by the courts," Mrs. Davis told me. "We know he didn't do anything wrong. We know he didn't know about your step-mom and that he didn't hurt you. We know it's safe for you and Alphonse to live with him. You can go home now." I sniffled and wiped my face.

"Okay," I croaked. Mrs. Davis smiled and said,

"I'll get your bags for you," she told us. "I'll carry them out the car and come back for you." She left and I looked over at Annie and she smiled at me.

"See? You're going home, Ed." She said.

"Um… thanks for… I mean, for… thanks for taking care of me and Al." I stammered. Al nodded beside me and hurried over to her. He gave her a big hug, starting to cry loudly.

" _Shh_ ," Annie comforted, rubbing his back. "It's okay, Alphie. You're a strong, brave little boy. You're going to go home and see your daddy. It's okay, sweetheart." I stood up and walked over, hugging them both. Mrs. Davis came back in and the hug ended. Annie patted our heads and wished us well and that was it. Our time in foster care was over. Little did I know that the hard stuff wasn't over. In a lot of ways, the hard stuff was just beginning. I'm just glad that we had a good foster parent who helped us through a rough period of transition; a part of my life that if we had stayed with the Porters I don't know if we would have made it through. I probably would have run away for real and then who knows what would have happened. The Porters wouldn't have stood for that. That's all I know.

I owe a lot to Annie. I didn't realize it at the time but she taught me and Al some coping skills that I still use, coping skills that are healthy and good. She showed us love and stability and I'm so, so grateful for that. Annie has been in our life in a limited role since leaving her house, checking up on us and sending us Christmas cards and stuff. She still fosters but ended up adopting a sibling group – two boys. A pair of brothers who had seen the worst in humanity; an older brother with the weight of the world on his tiny shoulders. It makes me wonder what would have happened if the courts hadn't have cleared Dada. Would there have been a long, drawn out custody battle where Dada fought for us? Would we have been the sibling group Annie adopted? I don't know. Considering how attached I was to her, that may not have been the worst thing. But I have my dad and I love my dad. I love my family. And now those kids have a great mom and a stable life. That's all a kid needs. That's all anyone needs. I have that and it makes me happy that Annie not only gave that to me and Al, but that she is giving that to kids who need it most. Foster care was hard, but in some ways it kept my family together and made it stronger. We owe a lot to Annie and I'll never be able to pay her back. Not that she wants me to. All she wants me to do is grow up and be happy and I'm on that path now. I wanna make her proud, just like I wanna make Dada proud. She's part of my family, just not in the way I envisioned as a little kid. She cares about us, even three years later and that's enough. It's always been.


	3. Chapter 3: The After Part

**EmpathyfortheDevil:** I'm so glad you enjoyed the first two chapters! I hope you continue to enjoy the story! Thanks for the review!

 **Hey, guys! I am so, so sorry I haven't updated since December! A lot has happened, but let's just say I am finished with my third semester of nursing school! Three down, one to go! I finished with all A's, so hopefully ya'll can forgive me for a lack of updates. Anyways, I'm working on getting a job at a children's hospital, but I'm hoping I can update a lot over the summer. My issue is that I have so many partially written things for this story, but cannot for the life of me actually finish one and decide what to upload. Hopefully I can get over this and update more frequently for me. If there's something in particular you'd like to read about, just leave a review for me and I'll make that a priority over anything else I have written. Anyway, I don't have much else to say so I'll stop talking and let you read. See you in the next chapter!**

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 _Childhood should be carefree, playing in the sun; not living a nightmare in the darkness of the soul._ \- Dave Pelzer

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Al and me have been in foster care for a week. We got to go home yesterday. _She's_ gone. _She_ got arrested last Friday. Al told Winry everything that had been going on since before Dada got married to _her_. We have a social worker now. Her name's Mrs. Davis and she has soft skin, a nice voice, and smells good. She's nice but she made us go to foster care. Bad stuff happened in the first house we stayed in. The family was mean and they had a lot of rules. Annie was nice, though. But everything is confusing now. Annie's rules are different from the Porters' rules and I don't know what Dada's rules are. After Mrs. Davis dropped us off at home, Dad didn't go over rules. I don't know what he wants. All we did yesterday was unpack. Nobody really said anything. I gave Dada a big hug but I didn't know what to say to him. I still don't know. It's Saturday. It's almost lunch time. I couldn't eat breakfast. Dada tries to talk to me but I don't have any words. Al's still sleeping. I'm kinda worried. Is sleeping late okay? I don't know. I don't know Dada's rules. I'm scared. I don't want to be a bad boy. I don't want to break any rules. But how can I not break rules if I don't know what they are? I'm in the living room with Dada. I'm worried about Al. The TV's off. Dada's reading. I'm just sitting here. I'm worried. I look over at Dada. He checks his watch and stands up. My heart beats funny. I'm scared. Where is he going?

"Wh-Where are you going?" I ask. I'm scared. I don't wanna be alone. It's hard to breathe. Dad looks at me.

"I figured I should go check on Al," Dada says. "He's been sleeping a while. I'm a little concerned." I nod.

"I'm worried," I tell him. "Can I go, too?" Dad blinks and smiles at me.

"Of course," he replies. "Happy to have you." Without thinking I put my hands up in the air. I want Dada to pick me up and hold me. I want him to. But I'm embarrassed. I'm thirteen now. I shouldn't want Dada to carry me. Should I? I don't know. I blush and lower my arms. I can't look at Dada now. He wouldn't want to cuddle a bad boy like me.

"Ed, do you want me to pick you up?" Dada asks me. I'm embarrassed but I nod. I feel Dada touch me so I tense up. Am I in trouble? I'm scared. What's he gonna do? I feel him lift me up and he puts me on his hip. He's holding me like he did when I was little. It makes me feel a little safe. I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder. He pats my back and I feel safe for the first time in a couple days.

"Thanks, Daddy," I whisper softly.

"No problem, little man," Dada says, using my special nick name. Mom's nick name. Dada carries me up the stairs. We go to my room and Dada knocks on the door. Al doesn't say anything so Dada opens the door. I gasp. Al's in the middle of the room, shaking. He's soaking wet, standing on a drenched part of the carpet. He's sucking his thumb, whimpering as we get closer.

"Alphonse," Dada addresses softly. "Al, what's the matter? Are you okay, sweetie?" Al whimpers and I squirm.

"Dada, what's wrong with Al?" I ask. I'm scared. Why is he just standing there? Why won't he say anything? What's wrong with him?

"I'm not sure," Dada replies. "Al, it's okay, sweetie. I'm not angry with you. It looks like you had an accident. Did you have a bad dream?" Al shakes his head, tears running down his face. "What happened?"

"I-I…." Al whimpers. "I had t-to go potty a-an' g-got sc-scared. I'm n-not s-supposed to l-leave the r-room until _sh-she_ tells me to. I-I'm s-sorry." Dada shakes his head.

"Oh, sweetie," Dada sighs. "Honey, you can leave your room to go potty. _She_ doesn't live here anymore. _Her_ rules weren't fair and don't matter anymore. If you need to go potty, you can go, okay?" Al nods and starts crying harder, hiding his face with his arm. Dada squats down and pats Al's back. I pat his head and say,

"It's okay, Alphie," I comfort.

"Al, why don't we get cleaned up?" Dada suggests. "You can wear jammies all day if you want but I think we need to get out of these wet ones. What do you think?" Al nods. I fidget. I wanna help. I take care of Al. I always do.

"Brother?" Dada asks, calling me my other special nickname, "Do you want to pick out some nice, warm jammies for Al?" I nod. I hurry to the dresser and pull out Al's favorite pair of pajamas – his pair of footie pajamas with cats on them. I grab some underwear for him and hurry over, handing the clothes to Dada. He smiles at me and pats my head, taking the clothes.

"Thank you," he says. "Okay, Al, Brother brought your favorite jammies. I'm going to run downstairs and grab something to clean up the carpet. Why don't you get dressed while I'm downstairs?" Al just stares at him and Dada leaves. Al stares at the clothes but doesn't do anything. He's just sucking his thumb. What's wrong with him? I get closer and say,

"Al, you gotta get dressed. Dada might get mad if you don't! We don't know what his rules are! You gotta listen to him!" Al looks over at me and grabs the pajamas. He just holds them. I'm getting scared. Why won't he listen to Dada! We might get in trouble! "Al, you gotta get dressed! C'mon!" I'm practically begging. I don't wanna get in trouble the first day we're home! He might put us back in foster care! Dada comes back in and I turn around.

"Al didn't listen! I tried to get him to get dressed but he didn't listen!" I cry. Al whimpers and starts crying loudly, Dada patting my head.

"It's all right, Ed," he tells me. "Al's having a bad day and needs some help. It's okay, I'll help him." I nod, Al crying loudly like a little baby. Dada walks over to him and squats down. He puts a hand on Al's head and softly says, "Alphonse, it's okay sweetie. I'm right here. I'll help you get dressed, okay?" Al is still crying and shakes his head. "Honey, you can't stay in these wet clothes. It won't take long at all. You can suck your thumb when it's all done if that's what you're worried about." Al nods and Dada helps him get dressed. Dada zips the pajamas and Al demands to be held. I fidget nervously. Are we allowed to do that? I don't know. Is Al in trouble 'cause he peed everywhere? I don't know that, either. I don't know what the rules are. I'm scared. Dada picks Al up and cleans the carpet. He walks over to me and takes my hand.

"Let's eat lunch, boys," Dada says. I shake my head.

"We can't," I tell him. "B-Bad boys d-don't eat lunch." Dad's brow furrows.

"You aren't bad boys," Dada replies. "Are you hungry?" I shake my head. I'm not hungry. I don't eat much anymore. At Annie's, I ate but I never finished my food. She never got mad. Will Dada? I don't know. I don't know the rules. I don't know what Dada wants. We go downstairs and go to the living room. Dada sits down on the couch and I sit next to him. Al's on his lap. He's shaking. He's sucking his thumb. I'm so scared. I don't know what's bad and what's good. I don't know what his rules are. Can I ask? I don't know if I can ask. Bad boys shouldn't talk. Bad boys don't tell people what they want or need. Bad boys cry because they know they've been bad. That's what _she_ says. I'm scared of _her_ coming back.

"Boys," Dada says softly, "We have soup. Want me to make soup? That's easy on the tummy, right? Annie told me that you've had tummy issues and haven't had much of an appetite." I swallow and shake my head.

"I-I… we can't," I insist. Dada lifts Al off his lap and puts him on the couch.

"I'll make some anyway," Daddy says. "If you decide you can eat, it'll be there for you, okay?" I nod and Dada leaves. Al crawls up into my lap. He's sucking his thumb. He's shaking. He's scared. We don't know the rules. I'm scared if we break a rule we don't know about that Dada will send us away. I'm scared Dada's mad 'cause I told him I wanted to stay at Annie's and that I love her. I felt safe at her house. I don't feel safe here. _She_ hurt me here. _She_ hurt Al here. This house is where I got hurt. All the memories are in my head. They won't go away. We're not safe here. Al whimpers. He feels warm and sweaty. He shivers and gets closer to me. I can hear him sucking his thumb. The sound is soft and constant. It makes me feel a little better. I wonder if Al feels sick.

"Al? Are you okay?" I ask him. Al shakes his head.

"I don't feel good," he replies in a whisper. He lurches forward and throws up all over me. He coughs and gags, throwing up again. I pat his back, Al throwing up a third time. He finishes, crying a little.

"It's okay," I comfort. "It's okay. Do you have throw up on you?" Al nods and Dada is back.

"Oh, my gosh, what happened?" He asks. I freeze up. Are we in trouble? I whimper and shake my head.

"He's sorry," I say. "He's sorry! He didn't mean to!"

"Ed, I know that," Dada says but I don't believe him.

"Don't be mad at him!" I cry. "He doesn't feel good! It's not his fault!"

"He's not in trouble," Daddy tells me and I shake my head.

"You're a liar!" I yell. Why am I yelling at Dada? Won't that just get me in more trouble? "You're lying! You'll just tell _her_ and we'll get in trouble! You always do! You hate us! I gotta take care of Al 'cause you hate us! I hate you!" I stand up and carry Al upstairs. I'll change him. Why did I yell at Dada? I probably just got us in lots of trouble! I shake my head. I can't think about that. I gotta take care of Al. I always gotta. I do more daddy things with Al than Daddy does. I carry Al to our room. I help him change into new jammies. He says with his eyes he wants to take a nap.

"You gotta wear a Pull-Up, then," I tell him. "You've already gone pee everywhere. If you do that again, I bet Dada's gonna get mad." Al's lip trembles and he nods. He puts one on and gets dressed again. Al crawls into his bed and I get in with him. I gotta stay with Al. I gotta try to keep him safe. Al cuddles up next to me.

"I love you," I tell him. Al nods.

"Love you, too," Al whispers, shutting his eyes. We didn't sleep good last night. I bet Dada's mad at us for that, too. _She_ always was. I'm still tired. I decide to nap, too. I gotta stay with Al anyways. I shut my eyes and fall asleep.

I quickly sit up, breathing heavily. I had a bad dream. My heart is racing. I want Daddy. But I still think he's mad at me. I bet he is. I've been a bad boy. I was bad at the Porters' and at Annie's and I kept Dada up all night last night. But I'm scared. I want him to hold me and make me feel better. I tense up. Uh-oh. I gotta go potty. I gotta pee. I gotta go now. I grab my leg. I'm shaking. I'm whimpering. I gotta make it. If I don't, I'll be in trouble. I don't know what's gonna happen to me if I get in trouble. I put my leg on and stand up. My whole body's shaking. I can't have an accident. I'll get in trouble! I have to go so bad! What am I gonna do!? I make it into the hallway and start crying. I can't hold it! My socks are wet. I'm soaked. What am I gonna do!? Dada's gonna be so mad at me! I was such a bad boy! I'm crying harder. I gotta hide! I run to the bathroom and shut the door. I cry and look at myself in the mirror. I know what I gotta do now. I don't want to. I didn't mean to! It was an accident! But that never matters. I gotta do it.

"I-I'm a bad boy," I cry, someone knocking on the door. I freeze. Oh, no!

"Edward?" That's Dada! He's found me! I'm gonna get in trouble! "Edward, sweetie, are you okay? What happened?" I keep crying. He's gonna give me and Al away! We're too bad!

"I'm s-sorry!" I wail. "I d-didn't mean t-to! P-Please don't g-give us up!"

"Give you up?" Dada asks. "I would never give you up. I'm not angry, sweetie. Just tell me what happened, okay?" I'm sobbing. I guess I gotta tell him.

"I-I had a bad dream," I cry, my chest hurting. "I had to g-go p-potty an' t-tried to make it but I c-couldn't! I'm sorry! Don't spray me with the hose! Don't lock me in the basement! Please! I'll be good!"

"Oh, Edward," Dada sighs. "Honey, you're not in trouble. I know it was an accident. Are you scared of getting in trouble?"

"Y-Yeah," I sob. "I don't know your rules! I don't wanna be a bad boy!"

"Okay, okay," Dada says gently. "Why don't I talk to you and Al about the rules when Al gets up? Until then, I promise you aren't in trouble. I'm not mad at you. I want to help. Can you let Dada help you?" I nod and open the door. I love Dada. I love him so much. I want him to love me. I want to feel safe in his house. Dada smiles at me and I shake my head. I hurry over to him and he gives me a big hug.

"I'm s-sorry!" I cry, Dada patting my back.

"Oh, little man, it's okay," Dada comforts, holding me close. "It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong. It's okay." I can't stop crying. Dada carries me to my room. He helps me change my clothes. Al wakes up. Dada comforts me 'cause I can't stop crying. We go downstairs. Dada cuddles us both. After a while, I stop crying. I'm still scared. I'm not safe. I don't know what the rules are. Dada promised to tell me. I squirm on his lap. Is he gonna tell us the rules?

"Are you feeling better now, Ed?" Dada asks me. I nod.

"Y-Yeah," I say softly.

"Okay, then let's talk about the rules," Dada says. I see Al stiffen up. My heart is beating funny. What are the rules gonna be? "I want you both to know that it is very difficult to make me mad, okay? I'll punish you if you behave badly, but I'm not going to punish you for making mistakes, having accidents, or crying. You are allowed to cry, cuddle, carry your stuffed toys, be afraid, and shut down as much as you need to. You both have been through so much. I'm not going to get mad at you and punish you for processing everything." I'm sweating again. I still don't know what's good and bad! I still don't know what Dada wants!

"B-But what are the r-rules?!" I ask frantically. It's getting hard to breathe! What are Dada's rules?

"You want specific rules?" Dada asks. Al and I nod.

"Br-Breaking r-rules gets bad boys in tr-trouble," I tell him, wheezing. My heart is beating in my ears. _She_ always said breaking rules gets bad boys in trouble. That's why we were always in trouble. We were always breaking rules. We need to know what Dada's rules are so we don't get in trouble.

"Okay, okay," Dada says. He sounds calm. He hums and says, "Okay, here are some rules. No fighting or lying. Go to bed on time and do your homework. No foul language. Um…." Dada trails off. I think he doesn't even know what his rules are. That's confusing. How can I know what the rules are when Dada doesn't?!

"Wh-What about peeing in bed?" I ask miserably. "That's against the rules, right?"

"Honey, no," Dada assures me. "That's okay because it's an accident. You don't do it on purpose."

"B-But bad b-boys pee in their beds," I whimper.

"No, Ed, that's not true," Dad tells me. " _She_ lied to you when _she_ said that. Wetting the bed is something lots of kids go through. It's normal and it's not bad. I know it's embarrassing but it's not a bad thing. You are not a bad boy. You are a very kind, smart, gentle boy. You are a silly boy with a great laugh who cares about his little brother. You are a very good boy."

"Al, too?" I ask

"Al, too," Dada confirms. "You are both such good boys."

"B-But you d-don't even know your own rules!" I cry. "I don't know what you want!"

"Edward, listen to me," Dada says. "I want you to continue being who you are. I want you to keep working through what happened to you and be nice to myself and Alphonse. Keep telling the truth and I'll keep thinking about what the rules are, okay? Maybe I'll talk to Annie. Did you like her rules? Did they make you feel safe?" I nod.

"Her house is safe," I tell him. Dada nods and kisses my hair.

"Okay," he replies. Al sighs and closes his eyes. We sit with Dada until dinner time and just like lunch I can't eat anything.

Dada tucks me and Al in at the same time. I have a later bedtime than Al usually, but I wanted to go to bed with him. Dada reads us Al's favorite book, _The Velveteen Rabbit_ , and kisses us both. We're in our own beds. I can hear Al whimpering. He's scared. I decide to sleep with him tonight. He needs me. I take care of Al. I always do. Sometimes, I feel like I'm more like a daddy for Al than a brother. It's weird. But I know lots about Al. Like, I know what sandwiches he likes the best. It's peanut butter with banana in the middle. Dada doesn't know that. I know Al's favorite drinks. His first favorite is milk and his second favorite is hot chocolate with marshmallows. Dada doesn't know that, but I do. Al's favorite color is light blue and his favorite show is _Avatar: The Last Airbender_. I don't know if Dada knows those things, but I do. Al's favorite candy are Crunch bars and he's still losing teeth. I think Dada knows that. I know how to calm Al down and make him feel better when he's scared better than Dad can. It's 'cause he's never here. That's why he doesn't know as much about Al as I do. That's why I gotta take care of him. Al falls asleep curled up next to me. He's tiny and warm and I gotta keep him safe. We don't know the rules of Dada's house for real so I gotta keep him safe. I shut my eyes, bad memories rising up in me as I start to fall asleep.

Someone's screaming. It's scary. I sit up and turn the light on next to my bed. Al is screaming. He's scared. I watch him. He's kicking and screaming really loud. The bed is wet. Al's in a Pull-Up. It must have leaked. That happens sometimes. I get out of bed. I need to take care of him. He's not kicking anymore. I need to help. I gotta help. Al needs me. He's crying. He's scared. I get closer and I watch him some more.

"Al?" I ask softly. "I'm right here. It's okay." Al looks over at me. He can barely breathe he's crying so bad.

"I-I w-was bad," he sobs.

"You're not a bad boy, Al," I tell him. Al's not a bad boy. I might be, but he's not. Al's a good boy. He always has been. That's why I gotta take care of him and keep him safe. I couldn't always do that. _She's_ stronger than me and hurt him a lot. "You had a bad dream, right?" Al nods. He's crying so hard.

"Boys?" Dada asks, coming in. "Is everything okay? I heard crying."

"Daddy," I say quickly, "Sorry! Al had a bad dream! The bed got wet even though he's in a Pull-Up. He didn't mean it, really! I'm trying to calm him down. I'll take care of him an' get him all cleaned up."

"Ed, you don't have to do that," Dada says. I shake my head.

"Yeah-huh," I insist. "I'm more like Al's daddy than you are sometimes." I blink, Dada's face looking really sad. Did I hurt his feelings? I shift on my feet and say, "I'm sorry. What did I say?"

"Nothing, Ed," Dada says. He squats down and says, "You are such a good big brother and I'm very proud of you. You do such a good job taking care of Al and I am so grateful you two have each other. But, Ed, I'm Al's daddy, right?" I nod.

"Yeah," I answer.

"So, there are things that I should do with Al and things you do with Al," Dada explains. My brow furrows. What things can Dada do with Al that I can't?

"What?" I ask.

"I mean that I am going to do daddy things with Al now," Daddy tells me. "I'll help him get cleaned up and change his sheets and help him with homework. I'll do daddy things and you do brother things. Does that make sense?" I shake my head.

"But I take care of Al," I protest. "That's my job!"

"Ed, you can still help Al and make him feel better but I'll do daddy things with him now," Dada says. I shake my head and Dad tells me, "Sweetie, you never should have had to do those things with Al to begin with. That was forced on you and it wasn't fair. You don't have to take care of Al that way anymore. Now you can just be Al's awesome big brother. I think that's a much better job for you. What do you think?" I shake my head.

"B-But I love him," I cry. "I wanna help him. He's my best brother friend."

"I know, sweet boy," Dada says, petting my hair. "But if I do daddy things with him, it'll be easier for you to be his best brother friend. You can play with him and make him laugh and hang out with him in ways I can't. I think that's pretty neat, huh?" I nod. I guess that's kinda cool. It's like my own job. And if I can still help him with stuff, that can be my new job.

"Can I still help sometimes?" I ask.

"Of course you can," Dada tells me. "I like when you help. You're a good helper."

"Then that can be my job," I answer. Dada smiles and I look over at Al. He's still crying. He's got Chico under his arm. He's shaking. I bet he's cold.

"Daddy," Al cries. "I'm s-sorry!"

"Al, you didn't do anything wrong," Daddy says gently. "Come here, sweetie. I'll make you feel better and get you cleaned up." Al nods and puts his thumb in his mouth. I watch Al crawl over and Dada picks him up.

"Dada, Al's scared," I tell him.

"I know," Dada replies.

"I am, too," I admit.

"Do you want to know a secret?" Dada whispers. I blink but nod.

"O-Okay," I say.

"I'm scared, too," Dada says. "I think we all are. We can talk about what's scary when you feel ready."

"Can we also give lots of hugs?" I ask. Hugs make me feel better. Hugs make me feel safe.

"Of course we can, sweet boy," Dada says. "We can give lots and lots of hugs." I give Dada a hug and Al's not crying anymore. He's sucking his thumb.

"Can we sleep in your bed, Daddy?" I ask. Dada nods.

"Yes," he replies. "Let me get Al cleaned up. Why don't you try to potty and I'll meet you in my room with Al?" I nod. I grab Lamby and my blankie. I hurry to the bathroom and use it. When I'm done I go to Dada's room. I crawl up into his big bed, waiting for him and Al. They come in and Dada gently puts Al next to me. He curls up next to me, Dada on his other side. I exhale, feeling the safest I've felt since leaving Annie's house. I close my eyes, Dada keeping those bad memories away for a little while.

It's Monday. I'm not going to school today. I don't know if I'll be back this year or not. It's over in two weeks so what's the point? Dada canceled his classes today. He can't do that tomorrow, he says. Teacher will come over tomorrow. I'm still in bed. Al's next to me. I don't think he's sleeping. Al's been weird since we got home. He talked at Annie's house and talked on a little Saturday but didn't talk at all yesterday. He was sleeping and when he wasn't sleeping, he was just lying in bed, wide awake. I'm scared something's wrong with him. What if Dada doesn't care? What if Dada doesn't do anything? Dada keeps saying he loves us and that we're not bad boys. I don't believe him. I want him to love me. I don't want to be a bad boy. But Dada doesn't love me. How could he? He always chooses _her_. He always sides with _her_. He doesn't care what happens to me and Al. I gotta take care of Al. I always gotta. Dada doesn't care about two bad boys like us. I wonder how long it'll take until he starts hurting us, too.

"Edward," Dad says, quietly opening the door. He walks in and says, "Hey, buddy. Are you ready to eat?" I sit up and shake my head. My tummy's upset. I don't wanna eat.

"Okay, that's fine," Dada tells me as he walks over. I tense up as he squats down in front of me. "Do you want to get up?" I nod.

"Pick me up," I demand. Saturday, Dada said we could act like babies as long as we needed to. He said it was okay to cry and be held. He said it was okay to have accidents and tell him things, even bad things and feelings. I wanna see if that's true, but I don't wanna get in trouble.

"Sure," Dada replies. He picks me up and I hold him tight. I want Dada to love me. I love him. I love him so much. I hope he really does love me, too. I sigh happily, resting my head on his shoulder.

"You're so sweet," Dada says. "I love you, too, honey." I lift my head and look down at Al. He's still sleeping. Dada's making him wear pull-ups at night 'cause he's been peeing the bed so much. I'm worried about him. I know Dada said on Saturday that he was gonna start doing daddy things with Al but I don't believe him. I do daddy things with Al. I always have. I'm more like Al's daddy than Daddy is. I'm worried but I don't know what to do about it.

"C'mon, Ed," Dada whispers. "Let's let Al sleep." I nod and Dad carries me out of the room.

"Daddy," I say, "I have to pee."

"Okay," Dada replies. He puts me down and says, "Go potty. I'll meet you in the dining room."

"But I'm not hungry," I tell him.

"I know, but you should get something to drink at least," Dad says. "And who knows? Maybe watching Dada eat will make you hungry." I shrug and walk away, Dad walking down the stairs. I pause. I still kinda want to see what'll get Dada angry. Maybe I shouldn't go potty. Maybe... I shake my head. I'll get in trouble if I'm bad. I'm not stupid. If I want Dada to love me, I need to be a good boy, not a bad boy. I want to be a good boy. I'll go potty. Dada will be happy if I do and he'll love me. I go potty and wash hands. I look up, my face staring back at me in the mirror.

"I'm a bad boy," I say. That's what I'm supposed to say when I see myself in the mirror. I don't know why. I just am. _She_ always said it was to teach me that I was a bad boy and teach me what I did wrong. It taught me that I'm a bad boy, but it never taught me what I did wrong. Maybe it's 'cause everything I do is bad and wrong.

I leave the bathroom and walk down the stairs. Dada's waiting for me. I go into the dining room and stand in the doorway. Dada's drinking coffee. He's got a bagel. I don't want a bagel. I don't want to eat. I'm not hungry. And even if I was, there's no guarantee that Dada will feed me. I don't know what to do now. The last week has been scary and weird. The grown-ups aren't acting like they should. Grown-ups are supposed to make rules and make me follow 'em. They haven't done that. Annie didn't have rules and Dada really doesn't, either. I'm confused. I don't know what Dad wants. I don't know what is bad and what is good for him. I don't know what he wants. Dada looks up and I flinch, holding my breath. He might be mad.

"How long have you been standing there?" Dada asks. I don't say anything. Dada stands up and I back up. Should I apologize? It never worked with _her_.

"Um," I squeak, backing up into the wall. I'm shaking, Dad pausing in front of me.

"Sweetie, what's the matter?" Dad asks and it sounds like he's worried. "Are you scared?" I swallow nervously and nod.

"Am I in trouble?" I whisper. Dad frowns.

"In trouble?" Dada questions. "Why would you be in trouble?"

"I, uh, just stood here," I tell him, my voice shaking. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"What you're supposed to do is come join Dada for breakfast," Dad says. "I know you're not hungry, but I'll get you whatever you want to drink."

"Bad boys don't sit at the table," I blurt.

"Well, I don't know any bad boys," Dada replies. "You're Ed and you're a good boy." I stare at him and Dada reaches for my hand. I shrink back, whimpering 'cause I'm scared.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Ed, I'm not going to hurt you," Dada tells me. "It's okay, baby. Come here." I swallow and get closer, Daddy pulling me into his tummy. He hugs me and I relax in his arms. "You're safe. It's okay." He rubs my back and picks me up. He holds me close and asks, "Did you go potty?"

"Yes," I say.

"Good boy," Daddy praises me. I feel my tummy gurgle and Dada kisses my hair. "Someone sounds hungry."

"No," I insist. "I'm not."

"Ed, it's okay if you are," Dad says.

"Bad boys don't eat breakfast," I tell him.

"You're not a bad boy," he replies. He carries me to the table and sits me down on a chair. "Now, what do you want?" I stare at the wooden table. I want Fruity Pebbles. They're my favorite. But I'm not allowed to eat breakfast because I was bad last night.

"Edward?" Dada asks.

"I was bad," I remind him. "I cried all night and wet the bed. I kept you up. I was bad. I don't get food when I'm bad."

"You were scared," Dada says. "You had bad dreams. And yes, you wet the bed, but I know you didn't mean to. You're not in trouble and you weren't bad. If you want something to eat, you can tell me." I look away, breathing funny, and shut my eyes in case he changes his mind and gets mad. Getting hit is easier when you can't see it. Kinda.

"Uh, Fruity Pebbles," I whisper. "Please?" I look up at Dada and see he's smiling at me. It's a nice smile. It makes me feel safe.

"Those sound yummy," he tells me. "I'll be right back. You want juice?" I nod.

"A-Apple," I say. Dad smiles and leaves. I stare at the table. My face has been smashed into the table a lot. It hurts. I don't like it when _she_ does that to me. I know I'm bad, but I don't want to get hurt. My throat gets tight and my cheeks get warm. I start crying. I don't wanna cry. Crying gets bad boys in trouble. If you're crying, it means you know you were bad. I didn't do anything bad this morning, but I did something bad when _she_ hurt me.

"Edward," Dada says. I look up at him and he sets the bowl and cup down. He gets closer to me and asks, "Why are you crying?" I shrug. I don't know how to tell him why I'm crying. Besides, he might get mad if I do. I'm trying to stop. I don't wanna get in trouble. But I can't stop. My chest is tight and my throat is closing up. I can't stop crying.

"Honey, what's the matter?" Dada asks me.

"I-I w-w-was th-thinking a-about _her_ h-hurting me!" I cry loudly. It's hard to breathe. My chest is moving really fast but I'm not breathing. What's wrong with me? Why can't I breathe?!

"Edward, baby, try to calm down," Dada says. I can't! Daddy, I can't! I'm coughing, my tummy getting upset as I cry. I throw up all over the table, wheezing loudly. I fall out of my chair, crawling away from Dada. I've done it now! He's mad for sure! I didn't mean to! I crawl all the way to the wall and curl up next to it.

"I-I'm a b-bad boy," I say. I say it over and over again. I don't even know where Dada is anymore. Where am I? I'm scared. I'm scared! I want Daddy!

"Edward." I frantically look around. Dada is kneeling down in front of me. He smiles at me. That makes me feel less scared. "Are you okay? Do you feel sick?" I shake my head.

"J-Just sc-scared," I tell him.

"What are you scared of?" Dad asks.

"I w-was bad, s-so _sh-she's_ gonna g-get mad an-and hit me," I explain.

"Ed, first of all you weren't bad," Dada says. "Second, _she_ is in jail, far away from us. _She's_ never gonna hurt you or Al ever again. I promise." I don't believe him. _She's_ been hurting me since I was little. Sure, the police took _her_ away, but that doesn't mean _she's_ gone for good. _She'll_ come back, one day.

"I'm sorry," I sniffle.

"It's okay," Dada tells me, smiling at me. "Are you still hungry?" I nod and Dad says, "I'll clean the table off and you can eat. Sound good?" I nod again and hold my arms up to him. He picks me up and I rest my face on his shoulder. He rubs my back. I feel safe.

"I love you," I whisper. Dada holds me tighter.

"I love you, too," he replies. Dada carries me to the table and puts me on a chair. He cleans up the throw up and gives me a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and apple juice. He sits next to me and I stare at the food. Dad picks his bagel up and starts eating. I guess it's okay for me to eat. I pick up my spoon and take a bite, cautiously eyeing Dad. He doesn't get mad or freak out, so I guess it's really okay to eat. I take a few bites, already full. Will Dada be mad if I don't finish? Annie never was. And Dad has always been nice to me and Al. I put my spoon down and stare at him.

"All done?" Dada asks. I nod. "Okay. Good job, Ed." I stare at the table and Dad takes the dirty dishes. He takes them to the kitchen and comes back.

"I wanna see Al," I tell him.

"Why don't you go see if he's ready to get up?" Dada suggests. I nod and slide off the chair. "I'll be in the living room if you need something." I nod again and hurry up the stairs. I go into our room and open the door.

"Al?" I ask softly. I hear the bed squeak but don't see Al. I walk over to my bed. Al's still laying down, but he's awake. He slides his eyes over to me and I ask, "Wanna get up?" Al turns his face away and starts sucking his thumb. I'm worried about him, so I ask, "Need to go potty?" Al doesn't say anything to me. I tug on my shirt and ask, "Um, are you okay?" Al doesn't say anything again.

"I'm gonna get Daddy," I tell him. Al doesn't look at me or say good-bye. I'm scared and worried about him. I hurry down stairs and go into the living room.

"Dada," I say nervously. "Al's acting weird." Dada lowers the book he's reading and looks at me.

"Weird how, Ed?" He asks.

"Um, he won't look at me," I explain. "I ask him stuff and he doesn't answer. He's just lying in bed. I'm scared."

"Well, let's go in together," Dada suggests. "Maybe all Al needs is some encouragement, yeah?" I nod.

"Yeah," I agree. I like this plan. I think it's good. Al talked to Dad over the weekend. Maybe he'll talk to Dada now. Dada stands up and we start walking. I wanna hold his hand. I reach for his hand but stop before I touch it. Dad probably doesn't want me to hold his hand. I'm a gross, dirty, bad boy. I sniffle loudly, my throat getting all tight 'cause I wanna cry.

"Ed," Dada says gently, grabbing my hand. "It's okay, honey. We'll get Al to feel better, you'll see." I'm not sure Dada can. Al's acting really weird. I like that he's holding my hand, though. It makes me feel a little better. We walk up the stairs and go into my room. Al's still lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Dada and I walk over and Dad squats down by the bed.

"Al," Dada says gently. Al's eyes move toward Dada, but he doesn't sit up or say anything. Dad smiles at him and says, "Good morning, sleepy head. Are you hungry?" Al looks away and I twist my shirt. What's wrong with Al? Why won't he say anything?

"Why don't we get up, Al?" Dada suggests. Al doesn't do anything and I hear Dad sigh. Uh-oh. Is Dad getting mad now? "Honey, can we at least go potty? I think you had an accident and need to change." Al slowly sits up and his head bobs up and down. Dada smiles warmly at him, Al staring at him with a thumb in his mouth.

"Good job, Al," Dada praises. "Want me to pick you up?" Al nods and Daddy picks him up.

"Daddy," I say. "Daddy, is Al okay?"

"Ed, Al's just fine," Dada tells me. "I think he's just sleepy." I hurry over as Dad walks to our dresser.

"Is Al gonna sleep more?" I ask.

"Maybe," Dada replies. "Al, do you want to go back to bed or are you ready to get up?" I see Al shrug a little.

"We can color," I suggest.

"Oh, that sounds like fun, doesn't it?" Dada asks Al in an excited voice. Al nods a little and Dada grins. He grabs normal underwear for Al and carries him out of the room. I follow, Dad stopping in front of the bathroom

"Ed," Dada says, "Why don't you get things ready down stairs?"

"I wanna stay with Al," I say instantly.

"I know, but Al may not want you to be there when he goes potty and takes off his pull-up. It might embarrass him." I shake my head.

"I can't leave him," I insist. "Al needs me."

"Ed, remember how we talked about how I am going to do daddy things with Al now?" Dada asks. My throat gets tight and I nod.

"Yeah," I say, my voice shaking.

"Do you think helping Al get changed is a daddy thing or a brother thing?" Dada asks. I swallow, tears in my eyes.

"A-A daddy thing," I answer. I wipe my face and say, "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, sweetie," Dada replies. "We'll be right back, okay?" Al whimpers and shakes his head.

"N-No," Al cries. "B-Brother has to come!"

"Al," Dada coos, "Ed's going to stay right outside the door, waiting for you, okay?" Al sniffles and nods. Dada pats my head and they go into the bathroom. I wait for them. I want to help Al. Why is helping Al a daddy thing now? I always help Al clean up when he has an accident. Why can't I help now? I don't understand. The door opens and I look at them. Dada smiles at me and takes my hand.

"I'm sorry I wanted to stay with Al," I apologize. "I always help. I want to help." Dada nods. He's got his nice, safe smile on. That makes me feel better.

"Ed, honey, it's okay," Dada tells me. "You boys are pretty inseparable."

"Is that bad?" I ask nervously.

"Not at all," Dada replies, walking down the stairs. "I think it's sweet. I always wanted a sibling to be tied at the hip with. I'm happy Mom and I were able to give that to you."

"I, uh, always wanted more," I admit softly.

"More siblings?" Dada questions. We walk to the living room and I nod;

"Yeah. Like, two more, I think. Al would be a good big brother to them."

"Well, Mama and I did want to have more kids," Dada tells me. We sit down on the couch. Al's on Dad's lap and I sit as close to him as I can.

"How many more?" I ask.

"At least one more," Dada replies. "I wanted a girl."

"And the cancer's why you didn't?" I ask, Al looking up at Dada with big eyes.

"That's right," Dada answers. "The part of Mom that made babies had cancer inside of it, so she had it taken out."

"That's a vagina, right?" I ask.

"Uterus, actually," Dada corrects, patting Al's back. "Mom, uh, had ovarian cancer that spread to her uterus and cervix. All that stuff got removed after Al was born. But, um, it spread. First to her bladder, then her liver."

"Dada," Al says quietly.

"What sweetie?" Dada asks.

"V-Va... _She_ said Mommy was a slut 'cause she had cervical cancer so she deserved what she got," Al says. I gasp, starting to shake. Al's not supposed to talk about that! "Is that true?"

" _She_ said that?" Dada asks. Al nods. "Do you know what a slut is?" Al shakes his head.

"N-No," Al whimpers. "Is it bad?"

"Well, bad maybe isn't the best word for it," Dada says softly. "Al, what matters is that Mom wasn't a slut and didn't deserve what happened. Vanessa has been lying to you for a long time, boys. Why _she'd_ lie about Mom, I don't know."

" _She_ also said Mama's death is my fault," Al goes on, starting to cry.

"Oh, Al," Dada sighs, hugging Al tighter. "Honey, what happened to Mom is no one's fault. She got sick. No one is to blame. You had nothing to do with what happened, I promise." Al doesn't say anything. I'm shaking. Al wasn't supposed to say that! We're gonna get in trouble now!

"Al wasn't supposed to say that," I tell him frantically. I'm sweating. My heart is beating funny. What's gonna happen to us now?

"Ed, it's okay to tell me things like that," Dada tells me, looking at me. "It's good, even."

"Good?" I ask.

"Yes, Ed," Dada says, carrying Al down the stairs.

"So, I can tell you things?" I ask. I don't think it's really okay. I told Annie some things and she didn't get mad. But this is Dada and he may get mad. His wife hit me 'cause I'm bad. If I tell him those things, he might get mad at me. Dada sighs and rubs his forehead. Uh-oh. Did I say something bad? Is he mad at me?

"Ed," Dad says softly, looking down at me, "You can tell me anything whenever you're ready. I know it's probably scary to talk about right now, but I'm ready to listen whenever you're ready to talk. You don't have to hide, honey." I squirm on the couch.

"Oh, um," I say, tugging on my shirt. I'm so sweaty. My heart's beating fast and weird. I don't believe him. I want to, but I don't. He'll get mad as soon as I tell him things. I don't feel good. We aren't supposed to tell. Nobody is supposed to know things that _she_ did or said! Dada tries to take Al off his lap but Al won't let go of him.

"Honey, I'm going to get the things you need to color," Dada tells him. "If you want to color, you need to let go, okay?" Al doesn't do anything. He just holds on to Dada.

"I... I can get it," I say. My voice is shaking. My hands are shaking. It's getting hard to breathe. I'm scared. We aren't supposed to tell people things! It's bad! We've been bad! We're gonna get in trouble! I glance around. Where is _she?_ Where is Vanessa? _She's_ gonna hear what Al said! _She_ always does! Then he'll get in trouble! We both will! I shake my head, whimpering as my legs shake. When did I stand up? I can't remember.

"Ed, what's wrong, buddy?" Daddy asks. I back away. Dada doesn't care. He'll just tell _her_ what we did! He always does! He always does!

"Stay away from me!" I yell. Who am I yelling at? Am I yelling at Daddy? No. Vanessa's here! _She's_ coming for me. I can't breathe!

"Edward, honey, it's okay." No, it's not! I back into the wall. We were so bad this weekend! We were so, so bad! I fall down. My head hits the wall. Someone's coming for me! I curl up into a ball. I can't breathe. My chest hurts! I'm peeing in my pants. I don't care. I'm gonna get hit either way.

"Ed." I freeze. That's... _Dada?_

"Wh-What's happening?" I wheeze. I'm scared. I'm so scared!

"Well..." Dada begins, losing his sentence. "I'm not entirely sure. I think you're having a panic attack. I've read a bit about those. Are you scared?" I nod timidly.

"W-We've been bad," I tell Dada, starting to cry. "We've been so bad! We broke every rule! _She's_ gonna be so mad!"

"Sweetie," Dada sighs. He's still holding Al. Al looks freaked out. " _She_ can't hurt you anymore. That's all over now. You don't have to follow _her_ rules anymore. _She_ can't come back here. _She's_ not going to hurt you." I blink, my whole body shaking.

"But we were bad," I insist.

"No, baby," Daddy says gently. "No, you weren't. You've both been very good boys. It's okay to tell me things. It's okay to cry and be upset and have bad dreams. It's okay to be angry or scared. It's okay. You're both doing just fine." I stare at him before I start sobbing. I cry so hard, my chest hurts.

"Oh, sweetie," Daddy says. "Come here." I crawl over and Dada manages to hug me while he still holds Al. He pats my back and I cry into Dada. " _Shh_ , it's okay. It's okay. You're such a brave, strong boy. It's okay, Ed. It's okay. Daddy's here. I'm here." I cling on to Dada, crying so hard I might throw up. I feel Dada slide me onto his hip and he stands up. He walks to the couch and starts to rock us back and forth. Dada's so gentle. He's so nice to me. He rubs my back and whispers nice things into my ear. I wish I had Lamby to suck on. So, I suck on my thumb instead. I'm not supposed to, but it makes me feel better. I lay my head down on Dada, my breathing normal.

"That's it," Dada encourages. "That's it. It's okay, Ed. You're okay." I sigh, shutting my eyes. I take my thumb out of my mouth and hug Daddy tight. He chuckles weakly in my ear; "Sweet boy."

"I love you," I tell him. I do. I love Dada. I love him so much. I think he loves me. I want him to love me.

"I love you, too, Brother," he says. I like that. He said he loves me and called me my special nickname. I like that. Brother's my special nickname 'cause I got it when Al was born. Ed's my normal nickname and Brother's my special nickname. It makes me feel special. Al calls me Brother all the time and it makes me feel special. I shift on Dada's lap, freezing. Uh-oh. I wet my pants! Dada's gonna get mad at me! I start wheezing, crying all over again.

"Honey, what's the matter?" Daddy asks. He sounds worried.

"I-I peed in my pants!" I cry. It's hard to breathe. What's wrong with me?!

"Ed," Dad says softly. "It's okay. It's okay. It's just an accident. You just had an accident."

"I'm a bad boy," I say miserably.

"No, buddy," Dada replies. "No, you're not. You were scared. Annie told me this happened to you last week when you were scared. It's okay. I'm not upset with you."

"I-I'm sorry, Daddy," I cry. "I d-didn't mean t-to!"

"Ed, baby, it's okay," he says gently, holding me closer, "It's okay. _Shh_ , it's okay." I choke and start crying even harder. I hold Daddy tight and he rocks me back and forth.

"Y-You d-don't l-love me 'cause I'm b-bad a-an' g-gross!" I cry.

"You're not bad and gross, Ed," Dada tells me softly, patting my back. "I love you so, so much, sweetie and you're such a good boy."

"I broke a rule!" I cry, almost yell. I'm scared. What's Dad gonna do to me? Lock me in the basement? Use the chain? Oh, _God_ , please not the chain. I'm shaking. Not the chain. "Not the chain," I mumble, still crying. "Not the chain. Not the chain."

"What are you talking about?" Dad questions. He doesn't know. Not the chain. Dada doesn't know. I broke a rule, though. He's gonna hurt me.

"I broke a rule," I repeat. It's hard to breathe. I'm so scared. My chest feels tight. My lungs are on fire.

"Honey, you didn't break a rule," Dad says. "We went over rules on Saturday. Do you need to hear them again?" I nod frantically.

"B-Breaking rules g-gets bad boys in trouble," I remind him.

"Okay, Ed," Dada begins, "The rules mostly exist to keep you safe and healthy, remember? Our rules are that you and Al go to bed on time, that you brush your teeth, you shower at least every other day, that you tell Dada when you have an accident, that you eat, that you do your homework, and ask me to go somewhere. We also don't steal or keep food in our room, do we?" I shake my head.

"No," I reply, my voice shaking.

"We do our best to be kind to one another," Dada goes on. "We tell the truth and say nice things. We don't fight. Dada has some rules, too, about how to discipline you and to take a time out when I'm frustrated. Bottom line here, Ed, is that having accidents is not against the rules. It's okay, honey. It really is." I don't believe him. It's against the rules. It always is, no matter what. I don't mean to be bad. I really don't. I want to be a good boy so Dada will love me and be proud of me.

"You're lying!" I yell. "I'm always in trouble! I don't mean to be bad! Honest!"

"Edward, I'm not lying to you," Dad says calmly. "That's one of the rules. We don't lie to each other, right? Why would I lie to you, Ed? What good does it do? Why would I lie about you getting in trouble?" I'm confused. I don't know. I don't know! My whole body's shaking. I'm so confused. Nothing makes sense to me anymore.

"I don't know," I whimper. "I don't know. I'm confused. I'm scared."

"I know you are," Dada says gently. "We all are, I think. I know it'll take you and Al a little while to realize that I'm not going to just wake up one day and start hurting you. I get that. I know it'll take time for you to trust me again." Dad stops talking, his chin quivering. Al moans wordlessly and hugs Dad tighter. Is Dada gonna cry again? He's been crying sometimes. It's weird. Dad's never cried in front of Al and me. Not even when Mom died. He always cried alone in his room at night. I heard him lots of times and always tried to make him feel better. I don't know what to do when he cries now. It's my fault he's crying. I need to stand in the corner. I don't know how to do that anymore. I used to do it one way, but Annie said that's not how I do it now. That's why nothing makes sense. Grown-ups can't make up their minds.

"Ed," Dada says, his voice shaking, "Why don't you go get cleaned up? I think you'll feel better."

"I-I gotta stand in the corner first," I say. I was bad. I gotta get in trouble now. Maybe if I tell him I'll stand in the corner, he won't hit me with the chain. Dada blinks and sighs, rubbing his forehead. My muscles are tense. Is he mad? What did I do wrong?

"Ed," Dad says. He sounds frustrated. I think he's frustrated. "Ed, you are not in trouble. You don't have to stand in the corner. All you need to do is take a shower and put clean clothes on." I shake my head, wheezing.

"N-No," I whimper. "No, I was bad. I-If you... _She's_ gonna find out and h-hit me! I didn't mean to b-but _she_ doesn't care!"

"Ed," Dada says again. He sounds mad at me. I'm scared. My heart is beating so fast it might blow up. I can't breathe. "Edward, please calm down." _Calm down?!_ I can't! Not when _she's_ gonna get me!

"Shut up!" I yell. "Shut up!"

"Edward, stop it!" Dada scolds loudly. I keep crying, Dad sighing and lowering his head. "I have to call the social worker. I can't deal with this."

"No!" Al screams. "Don't call her! We'll be good! Don't send us away!" Dad does hate us! He wants to send us away. He can't deal with two bad boys like us. I knew he couldn't! I just don't get why he'd act so nice and try when he doesn't care.

"You don't care!" I yell at him. "I knew you didn't care!"

"Boys!" Dad yells back. "I'm not sending you anywhere! I just need advice! I don't know how to talk to you anymore!" Dad walks away, Al cautiously reaching for him.

"No, Alphonse," Dad says. "I can't handle this right now. I need to be alone." Al stops, crying loudly as Dad leaves us alone.

"Dada!" I yell. I don't want to be left alone! "Daddy! Come back! We'll be good!" Does Dad love us? I really don't know. I hurry after him, Al trailing miserably behind me. Where did Dada go? Did he leave forever? He might have. I don't want him to! Even if I don't know if he loves me, I love him, and I want him to love me back.

"Brother," Al cries. "Is Dada gonna send us away?" I just look at him. I don't know. I don't know what to tell him. I gotta take care of Al. I always gotta. It's my job. He needs me to take care of him. Al whimpers and lowers his head and I go up the stairs. Al follows me and I cry,

"Dada! Please don't send us away! I'm sorry! I can be good, honest! I want you to love me! Please don't leave me!" I hear a door open. I turn, Dad peeking out of his room. He's on the phone and my heart stops. "You promised!" I yell. "You promised you wouldn't give us up!"

"Edward, I'm not," Dad says but I don't believe him. I wrap my arms around my tummy and start crying harder than I already am.

"P-Please don't," I cry. "Please don't! We'll be good, I promise! We'll be good! We can be good boys!" I cry and cry, Al patting my back as he stands next to me.

"Ed, come here," Dad instructs. Oh, no. I'm in trouble now, aren't I? I know better than to tell a grown-up no. I creep over, my heart beating so fast it's gonna blow up. I'm shaking. What's Dada gonna do to me? I make it over and Dad hands me his phone. I shake my head.

"No," I say. "I'm not supposed to. Bad boys don't use the phone."

"Ed, it's okay," Dada says gently. "This person wants to talk to you."

"No one wants to talk to me," I mumble. Who would? I'm just a dirty, bad boy.

"That's not true," Dad tells me. "It's okay. Take my phone." My hand's shaking. I take the phone cautiously and raise it to my ear. Is _she_ going to be on the other end?

"H-Hello?" I say, mostly whispering.

"Hi, Ed." My heart stops for a second.

"A...Annie?" Why would Annie call me? I don't understand.

"Your dad told me you aren't adjusting well to being back home," Annie says. "Are you and Al okay?" I shake my head, my bottom lip trembling.

"I'm scared," I tell her.

"Of what?" Annie asks.

"Of... that Dada's gonna give us up 'cause we're bad and he can't handle us," I admit. "I'm trying to be good, I promise."

"I know you are," Annie tells me. "Your dad told me you didn't do anything wrong." I shake my head again.

"I-I did," I whimper. "I broke a rule."

"Ed, the rules I had are the same rules your dad has," Annie explains slowly. "Was having accidents, being scared, or wetting the bed breaking rules at my house?" I bite my lip. I don't know. She says it wasn't, but I don't know. I'm also not sure about her rules being Dad's rules. Rules never stay the same.

"I guess not," I reply, my voice shaking.

"They weren't," Annie says. "Your dad is the same way."

"Rules always change," I tell her. "Your rules match now but soon, they'll change. They always change."

"Ed, your stepmother changed rules with no warning, but your father isn't going to," Annie says. "He and I talked about what my rules are and his rules are my rules. They aren't changing, I promise."

"I don't know," I say, my voice shaking. "They always change, Annie. Something that's good becomes bad and then it changes again. I'm just scared that... that when the rules change Dada will... that Daddy... I want him to love me and I don't want him to give us up."

"Edward," Annie says softly, "your father loves you and your brother so, so much. I know it's hard and scary now, but I promise he loves you." I bite my lip and whisper,

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course," she replies.

"I, uh, sometimes wanna live with you at your house," I admit, staring to cry. "I-I'm not a good s-son!"

"Ed, listen to me sweetheart," Annie instructs. "I gave you and Al some stability for the first time in a very long time. I was consistent and fair and that's something you didn't have until you came to live with me. You're not a bad son for craving that. Your daddy knows you felt safe with me and got a little attached to me. It's okay, he's not upset and he doesn't think you're a bad son. That's why he talked to me about house rules is because he wants to give you that consistency you want."

"I love him," I cry. "But I don't feel safe! Al doesn't either!"

"I know, I know," Annie comforts. "It took you a little while to feel safe at my house, remember. Give yourself some time, okay?"

"I got scared," I sob into the phone, "I was scared and got pulled away somewhere! I peed in my pants like a bad boy!"

"Ed, honey, it's okay," Annie tells me. "I know you were scared and so does your daddy." I nod and look over at him. Daddy smiles at me and I somehow cry harder.

"I want my daddy," I tell her.

"Okay, you can hang up," Annie says. "We can talk again soon if you want." I nod.

"O-Okay," I croak. "Bye."

"Bye, Edward." I hang up and run to Dada. He picks me up and I cry into his chest. He holds me close and whispers in my ear, sitting down and rocking me back and forth. I don't feel safe. I want to feel safe. But Dada makes me feel a little better. I'm not as sad or scared when he holds me. I want him to hold me all the time. I wish he could. He did after I lost my leg a couple years ago and couldn't walk. Dada had to do everything for me and now I miss that. I wanna be close to him, like I'm a baby all over again. I'm breathing slower. My heart isn't beating so fast anymore. I'm just crying a little now. Dada's making it all better for me, even though I was bad. Maybe he does love me. I want him to.

"There we go," Daddy says softly. "All better." I sigh and rest my head on Dad's chest. I can hear his heart beating. I like that. It's safe.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. I don't know what I'm sorry for. I just am. Dada hugs me even tighter and kisses my hair.

"It's okay," he says. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's okay."

"Please don't give us up," I beg him. "No matter what, okay?"

"Never in a million years would I give you up," Dada tells me. "Do you want to take a shower?" I nod a little. "Want the bath bench?" I nod again.

"Mrs. Porter didn't let me use it," I say. "I fell."

"Why wouldn't she let you use it, Ed?" Dad asks.

"Um, it took up too much space and she didn't want to move it after my showers," I explain nervously.

"Did you use it at Annie's house?" Dada asks.

"Mostly," I say. "The first day I didn't but after that I did. I didn't always wanna shower, Dada. Only after throwing up or having an accident. I'm tired. I don't like doing that anymore."

"I know but it's important to stay clean," Dada tells me. I shrug. Why does it matter? It's never really mattered before. I guess Dad has cared about that, but I don't get why it matters so much. It doesn't change anything. I wanna decide stuff. Taking a shower is something I decide. I don't want grown-ups to decide everything anymore.

"Go pick out some clothes and I'll get the bench in the tub," Dad says.

"When I didn't use it at Annie's, I didn't fall," I tell him. I'm sort of proud. Maybe he will be, too. "Maybe I won't need it soon." Dada gives me a funny look.

"Ed, you'll always need it," he says. "You have to clean your stump and the bath bench is the easiest way to do that."

"But no one else has to!" I cry.

"No one else is missing a leg," Dada replies. I glare at him.

"Who's fault is that?" I question bitterly, angry tears in my eyes. Dad sighs and hangs his head.

"I suppose mine to an extent," Dada says. "I'm sorry." I shake my head.

"Whatever," I grumble. "I'm not using that stupid thing and you can't make me!"

"I don't want you to fall," Dad tells me.

"Why the hell do you care!?" I yell. "If I have to use it, I won't shower!"

" _Edward_ ," Dad sighs.

"I mean it!" I say. "If you put it in there I won't shower! You can't make me!"

"Fine, fine," Dada says. It sounds like he's tired. Maybe he is. "Just be careful, okay?" I glare and stomp away. I don't need a dumb bath bench. It's Dad's fault I lost my leg anyways. If he had just divorced _her_ or listened to Al in first grade, it never would have happened. I go upstairs, pick out clean clothes and go into the bathroom. I start the water and stand in the tub. It's warm. I stand there for a few minutes. I'm angry. At least, I think I am. I really don't know. It feels like I don't know anything anymore. Nothing in my life makes sense anymore. A week ago, life was one way for me and now... I mean, I hated my life. Sure, I'm bad but I hate getting hit and yelled at and blamed for everything. I hate the changing rules and smelling bad and all the games. I hate all of it. But then, things made sense. I knew what to expect. I don't know anymore. It's really scary. I move to grab shampoo, my heart jumping when I begin to slip. I fall down, hard, the water hitting me in the face. Why does this always happen to me? What did I do that made me so bad? How can I fix it? I see the water turn red and I sit up on my knees. I'm hurt. My face hurts. I bit my lip. I hear footsteps. Someone knocks.

"Ed? Are you okay?" It's Dad. He sounds worried.

"I..." My throat is tight. I start to cry. It's loud and it hurts. Dad opens the bathroom door.

"Sweetie," he says, pulling the curtain back. "Did you fall down?" I look up at him. I nod. Dada bends over and says, "Can you get up?" I shake my head.

"I got hurt," I cry.

"I know, honey," Daddy comforts. His voice is steady and soft. I like when he talks this way. It makes me feel safe. Dada leans over and turns the water off. He puts a towel on the toilet and picks me up. He sits me on the towel and gently starts to dry me off.

"I'm sorry," I tell him. My lip hurts. I guess I need that stupid bench after all. I can't even shower like a normal kid. I'm just a freak with a missing leg who's been abused.

"For what?" Dad asks. I shake my head. I don't know what I'm sorry for the most. Yelling at him? Being a bad boy? Not listening? Peeing in my pants? Crying all the time? Wanting to live with Annie? There's so much to be sorry for. I can't just pick one thing.

"I... don't know," I say. My throat is tight. I'm embarrassed. I'm scared. I want to trust Dada when he says things aren't changing. That we're safe. That I'm not a bad boy. But I don't. I don't believe him. Dada sighs and covers me up with another towel.

"I'm sorry, too, Ed," Dada says. "There's so much I wish I could go back and change and do things differently, but I can't." Dad sniffles and he starts crying. I watch for a second before leaning forward and hugging his neck. I rest my head on his, Dada wrapping his arms around my middle. We hug for a while and Dada stops crying. He pulls away and kisses my hair.

"Thank you," he whispers. I nod.

"We said we were gonna give lots of hugs, remember?" I ask. Dada smiles and nods.

"I do, sweet boy," Dada replies. "I do. Thanks, little man. Are you okay?" I nod.

"I'm not that hurt," I say softly. "Dada, I'm sorry I yelled. I can't... what I mean is... I don't know why I say some of the stuff I say." Dad nods.

"It's okay," he tells me, drying my hair. "You've… what I mean to say is that you don't know how to handle everything that's happened to you and Al. I know you're hurting and upset and confused. We're all overwhelmed and it's okay to feel that way." I don't say anything. Dada leans in closer and I tense up. He starts to tickle my foot and I giggle a little. He tickles me harder and I can't help but laugh. Dada tickles me for a few more minutes before stopping and sighs, "I've missed your laugh so much. It feels like I haven't heard your real laugh in years." I look away guilty and we hardly say anything to each other for the rest of the day.

It's morning now. Dada's getting ready to go to work. I don't want him to go. Teacher's gonna watch us. I like Teacher. I love Teacher. But I don't want her here right now. I want Dada. I only want Dada. If Dada goes to work, I'm scared he won't come back. It's been a bad couple days. I have been bad and I know it. Dad might drive to work and never come back 'cause of me. Then what? I guess we'd go back in to foster care. I don't want that. I wanna live with Dada and Al forever. I watch Dada get his things ready for work. I glare. My heart's beating really loud. I feel warm and I'm shaking. I'm scared, but I'm also angry. How could he leave me and Al?! How could he?! Al's up, too. He's just sitting there, watching Dada. He doesn't want Dada to leave, either. What's gonna happen to us? I can't believe he's leaving us. I cross my arms, Dada pulling his long hair back into a pony tail. He glances back at me and smiles. I glare harder at him and quickly look away as Dad looks worriedly at me. I hear him walk over to me. I don't look at him. I'm too mad to look at him.

"Teacher will be here in a few minutes," Dada tell me gently. I grit my teeth and he says, "I'll be home about seven. It's lab day and my TA can't handle the lab alone, otherwise I wouldn't go. But Teacher will take good care of you." I clench my fist.

"You can't go," I tell him angrily, my voice shaking.

"Ed, I need to," Dada insists, putting a hand on my shoulder. I rip it off and start punching his arm.

"No!" I scream. I see Al scurry to hide as I scream so loud it hurts my throat. I keep punching him, over and over again, screaming, "No! No! _No!_ "

"Edward, stop," Dad instructs in a strong voice. I stop. I stand up angrily and start pacing. I yell wordlessly and kick the wall so hard it makes a hole. I don't care. I pick up a glass violin Dada has on a shelf and throw it. It shatters and I don't even look at it. I scream again and pick up something else. I don't even know what it is. I throw that, too, and just keep going. I yell, I throw.

"Edward!" Dada yells. "Stop it!" I scream at him but I don't say any words. I'm so angry. I don't know why I'm acting this way. I'm angry. I'm angry. It's hard to breathe. I feel Dada grab me and I scream again. I start flailing my arm and legs, trying to get away.

"Let me go!" I cry. "Let me go!" I start to hit Dad again. "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

"Edward James," Dada warns. "You need to stop. _Now._ I don't want to punish you, but I will if you don't stop." I struggle more, but I'm not hitting him as hard. I'm crying. When did I start crying?

"Don't leave," I sob, clinging on to the hand Dada's using to hold my arm. "Don't leave! Please!"

"Ed," Dad tells me softly, "I have to. I'm sorry, but I still have to work. We still need money so we can buy food and all the other things we need. I'm so sorry, sweetie. I wish I could stay with you and Al but I can't." I sniffle and look around. I see the hole in the wall, the broken glass and crystal, all the other things I threw and I start to wheeze.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry!" I wail.

" _Shh_ ," Dada comforts. "It's okay. You stopped as soon as I told you to. I'm not angry. I'm not going to punish you. I know how scared you are." I keep crying, Dada gently hugging me tight. " _Shh_ , it's all right. It's okay."

"I-I'm such a b-bad boy!" I sob. "I'm a b-bad boy!"

"No," Dada says gently. "No, you're not. You're scared. You're angry. I know you are. It's okay."

"I-I sh-should be l-locked up!" I cry so hard my chest hurts.

"I'm not going to do that to you," Dada tells me. "Sweetie, even when I do punish you, I'm never going to do it the way _she_ did. The way _she_ used to punish you and Al… it wasn't right. I'm not going to do that to you." I keep crying, Dada holding me tight. I think this is what my life's gonna be like now. I don't feel safe. I don't think I ever will. I am scared and angry and don't know what to do and I think I'm always gonna feel that way. I'm a bad boy. I know I am. This is just the part where Dada either decides I'm bad or somehow decides I'm not. If this is the part after abuse, I think I'd would have rather had nothing change. At least I knew what to expect then. Now, I don't. I think I hate the after part more than _her_ hitting us. Except… I don't. Nothing makes sense anymore.

I don't know what I'm gonna do now. I don't know what any of us are gonna do now.

 _I'm scared._


	4. Chapter 4: Remembering Mom

_Motherhood: All love begins and ends there._ \- Robert Browning

* * *

I can remember almost everything about my mom and nothing about her at the same time. I know how that sounds, but it's true. Even though I was little when she was around, I have some really clear, vivid memories of her. Mom would take Al and me places, like the zoo, and we'd have "dates" with Mom were it'd just be one of us and her. What sucks, though, is what I remember most is the cancer stuff. The hospital, the procedures, the wasting away... that's what I remember about my mom. And as I get older, I remember less and less about her. I can't remember how her voice sounded or how she talked. I only remember it was comforting. I can't remember how she would dress when she was out of the hospital. I only remember hospital gowns. I remember she sang when she cooked, but I can't remember what she cooked or what she would sing. See what I mean? I remember, but I don't at the same time.

I've been thinking about Mom a lot lately 'cause the anniversary of her death is coming up. No matter how much time passes or how much better I get, I always get super depressed that day, every year. Lucy wanted to take us out that day, but we turned her down. We know she was just trying to make us feel better, but it won't work. Nothing can take my mind off of it. I watched her wither away to nothing and those tend to be my strongest, most vivid memories of my mom that I have. It makes me feel so shitty. It's been eleven years this year and I still feel like I did when I was five whenever I think about Mom dying. Useless, helpless, and hopeless.

I've noticed Al's been way more withdrawn recently, too. Yeah, some of that's 'cause of Hannah and that he hasn't been feeling well recently, but I can tell it's about Mom. How could it not be? But he won't talk to me or anyone else about it. I know his depression is worse 'cause like mine his always gets worse in April, but something else is bothering him and it's Mom related. I just don't know what it is. I try to get him to open up to me about it but he won't. He won't talk about it in therapy, either. I'm worried. I don't like seeing Al that way. He's been upstairs in our room all evening. He hasn't been eating well, so he didn't have much dinner. I decide that I need to go check on him. I walk upstairs and make it to our room. The door's shut and it's quiet. I knock and wait for Al to answer. The door cracks open a little, a depressed and fatigued Al in the crack. His eyes are red and puffy, cheeks and nose pink. He's been crying.

"What's the matter?" I ask. Al shrugs.

"I don't know," he replies.

"Al," I sigh as he opens the door to let me in. He walks to his bed and sits down. I notice a picture of Mom on his bed and walk over.

"You miss Mom," I say, sitting down next to him.

"Yeah, but..." Al trails off, sniffling. He buries his face in his hands and he cries, "I don't remember her."

"Sure you do," I tell him.

"No, I don't!" Al argues miserably. "I don't... have a lot of good memories from when I was little like you do. I don't really remember preschool or Dada taking care of us. I remember Mom's treatment, but it's fragmented. My first good memory is the abuse starting." I sigh and put an arm around him. He rests his head on my shoulder and I say,

"Honestly? I'm starting to forget a lot about Mom. In elementary school, I could remember a lot about her. I remembered how she talked, what her voice sounded like, how she dressed, that sort of stuff. But now, it's fuzzy. It's like as I get older and make more memories, important stuff like Mom gets lost." Al glances up and me and I say, "I can't remember a lot about her, either, buddy. It's not your fault." Al doesn't say anything for a while. We sit on his bed for a few minutes, Al sniffling a little. This sucks. Admitting that I can't remember Mom the way I used to sucks. It makes me feel like I'm not a good son.

"What do you remember about Mom?" Al asks me.

"Her cancer treatment," I reply softly. "I... I don't remember specifics, really, just... I remember her looking one way – healthy, I mean – when the cancer came back and her getting sicker and sicker until she was basically a skeleton. But I remember she was always positive. Never saw her cry or complain. If she did those things, it was never in front of me and you. God, she was so brave. She was so strong. I can't imagine going through something like that, but she never let on how much it sucked." Al shifts on the bed, sitting cross-legged and looking right at me.

"What else?" He asks eagerly, his eyes wide. I grin.

"I remember the way she smelled," I tell him. "Mrs. Davis reminds me of how Mom used to smell, but Mom always smelled like a sugar cookie. She used to play with us, you remember?" Al shakes his head so I say, "She'd get down on the floor and play with whatever toys we were playing with. She would make voices for the characters when she played with and when she read to us."

"Wow," Al sighs sadly, wiping his nose on his hand. "I can't remember any of that." I frown and stand up. I have an idea. I pull him up so he's standing and guide him out of the room. "What are you doing?" Al asks as we walk down the stairs.

"We have home videos someplace of Mom," I explain. "I think we should watch some. I bet you remember more than you realize about Mom." Al makes a face and we get to the living room. I dig through the entertainment center, finding caseless VSH tapes. I pick one up and grin; it's my absolute favorite home video. I stand up and switch the TV over to the right channel and put the tape in. I sit down on the couch, Al slowly walking over and sitting down next to me.

"Trish?" The movie starts, Dada pointing the camera at Mom. Al gasps softly, hands covering his mouth as Mom smiles at the camera and Dada asked, "Is this on?"

"Yes, you silly man," Mom laughed, her voice as clear as a bell. Dad moved the camera, focusing on a playground.

"Edward! Alphonse! It's almost party time!" Dada called, two little blond kids running over. "Go to Mommy," Dada instructed. The camera moved back to Mom, Al now on her hip. He giggled, Mom kissing his hair.

"Okay, Al," she said warmly, "What are we doing here today?"

"It's my birthday!" Al cried, clapping his hands.

"And how old are you today?" Mom asked, Al holding up three fingers.

"I'm three!" Al exclaimed, Mom nodding proudly.

"That's right, you are," she confirmed, hugging him tight. "When did you get so big?"

"I don't know," Al giggled. I grin, watching Mom carry Al over to the park pavilion they rented for his birthday. Al scoots closer to me on the couch, watching the video intently.

"I remember," he breathes. "I think I remember this." I nod.

"Told ya," I say, younger me getting in the camera and loudly proclaiming,

"We've got cake, Dada! We gotta eat it now!"

"We need to wait for everyone else," Dada told me from behind the camera.

Who's coming?" I asked.

"Nana, Papa, Granny, Aunt Sarah, Uncle Urey, and Winry," Dada said.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Alphie! Nana's coming! Nana! Nana!"

"Where?" Al cried, looking around.

"I don't think she's here yet, baby," Mom told him, holding Al on her lap.

"Can I feel your head, Mama?" Al asked.

"Sure," Mom replied, pulling her wig off. Al gasps beside me and we watch as the little Al pats Mom's bald head.

"Fuzzy," he giggled, free fingers in his mouth. "When's it growing back?"

"I'm not sure," Mom replied. "It takes a while for hair to grow, sweetie. Let's potty before your party starts, okay? Edward?"

"I don't gotta," I protested loudly, reaching for the camera.

"Ed, you can hold the camera for a bit if you go potty with Mommy and Al," Dada said. I pouted for a second but nodded.

"Okay, but I don't gotta go!" I insisted.

"I do," Al said urgently.

"Let's go then," Mom said calmly. Dada turned the camera toward a table and got a close-up of the cake.

"Here's Al's cake," he said. " _Thomas the Tank Engine_. Al loves trains." Dada turned the camera again, Nana walking to the pavilion.

"Where's my little boy?" Nana asked, setting a gift bag down.

"Potty," Dada explained. "Ed, too."

"Last time I saw Al he was still in pull-ups," Nana commented. "He was still struggling with it."

"Well, Al will probably tell you himself, but we're only in pull-ups at night now and when he has an accident during the day," Dad told her. "We're making progress, just slowly."

"I guess he's going to start preschool in the fall, then," Nana said happily. "How's Trisha?"

"Tired," Dada sighed. "Just finished a round of chemo last week. She had it moved so she could be here for Al's birthday. She is so selfless, you know. She doesn't want the boys to miss important events or do things without her as much as possible."

"Well, that's Trisha," Nana chuckled.

"Nana!" The camera turned, little me making a b-line for Nana. She grunted and picked me up, chuckling a little;

"Hi, Ed. Are you excited?"

"Yeah!" I cried.

"Hi, Mom," Mom greeted. "Say hi, Al."

"Hi, Nana," Al said. He held up three fingers and said, "I'm three."

"I know," Nana enthused. "You're so big."

"After this," Al says suddenly, "Mom throws up while we wait for Papa, Granny, Winry, and Winry's parents. Everybody freaks out and I start crying. Everyone thought it was 'cause I didn't want my party to be over but that's not it. I was scared and worried about Mom."

"Oh, yeah," I say.

"And then, Mom just comforts me," Al goes on. "Promises me that she's okay. Holds me tight. She... she was always like that, wasn't she?"

"Yup," I agree. "Basically, she was the nicest person ever."

"She sang to me," Al says. "She sang _I Will_ by the Beatles. That's what she sang a lot when I was upset or scared." I nod.

"Me, too," I say softly. I hear Mom signing and my throat gets tight. This is what she sounded like. This is the kind of person she was. I remembered, but not really. We watch what Al described happen on the TV and once everyone was calm again, I hear my little voice demand,

"Gimme the camera!"

"Okay," Dada replied, the picture shaking as he gave me the camera. "Be careful, Ed."

"Yeah," I said, uninterested. I zoomed really close up to Al's face and said, "Al's here!" Al looked directly into the camera, his face still pink from crying. "It's his party, so he's gonna tell us what to do! What are we doing?"

"Waiting," Al said matter of factly. "Papa an' Granny an' Winry gotta come."

"See?" I asked. "Al's in charge. Mama, I'm hungry!"

"We have to wait for everyone before we can eat, little man," Mom told me. "Granny's bringing the meatballs you love."

"Here," I told her, handing the camera to her. "My arm got tired. It's heavy."

"Okay," Mom said behind the camera. "Dear? Can you take this?" Dad enters into the frame and he looks so... _young_. Not that Dad looks old now, but he does have those fine lines and a wrinkle or two. But in this video, Dada doesn't have those lines on his face. He's thirteen years younger and hasn't suffered what we'll all go through later.

"Dad's here," Dada told Mom as he takes the camera. Papa walks over and gives Dad a side hug. They speak briefly in German and I hear myself blurt,

"Don't say those words! I don't know what they mean!"

"Ed, it's German," Dad explained to me. "You know some German words, don't you?" The camera was on me and I nodded.

"Guten tag!" I cried, Al rushing over to hug me.

"What's that mean?" Papa asked me.

"It means hi," I said.

"Ich leibe dich!" Al squealed, still hugging me.

"And what does that mean, Alphonse?" Papa questioned with a grin.

"I love you!" Al exclaimed happily. "Ich leibe dich, too, Papa! An' Daddy an' Mommy!" Papa squatted down and said,

"I think you love Edward the most." Al nodded seriously.

"He's my big brother best friend," Al replied. "But I love Mommy an' Daddy a lot, so they shouldn't be sad. They should be happy 'cause I love them an' it's my birthday. I'm gonna go to school, Papa, 'cause I don' wear pull-ups anymore 'cept when I go night-night."

"Oh, wow," Papa enthused. "That's wonderful, my sweet boy." Papa stood up and told Dada, "My grandchildren are wonderful boys. We are so blessed."

"That's true," Dada agreed as Al and I screamed loudly.

"Winry!" We both screamed, the camera following us as we sprinted over. We hugged her at the same time, fighting for her attention as Granny pulled a wagon full of food and presents behind her.

"Hey, Hohenheim," Granny greeted, Aunt Sarah and Uncle Urey behind her. "Sorry we're late. These two ended up getting home late from the hospital."

"What are you boys doing?" Dada asks, walking into the living room.

"Watching home movies," I answer. "We're both missing Mom and are sad we don't remember her that well." Dada sighs and sits down, looking at the screen.

"This is a good one," he tells us. "This is one of the last times all these people are together. Mom got super sick following Al's birthday, Urey and Sarah had their accident the following summer, and Papa's dementia got worse soon after this." I nod. That's super depressing. But, Dad's right. I can sorta remember that right after Al's party, Mom got really sick. The cancer spread, I think, and the chemo suddenly got harder for her to tolerate. Then, the summer Mom died, Aunt Sarah and Uncle Urey got in a plane accident. They were flying to do medical work somewhere (I can't remember where) and it was a small plane and it went down. Everyone on board died, Winry's parents included. As for Papa, well, I can't remember him very well to be honest. I can vaguely remember that before _she_ started to abuse us, we were still driving up to see him pretty frequently and that he would talk distantly or confuse us with someone else. The more I think about it, the more I realize that our whole lives have been one big stress event which really blows.

"Yeah," I say softly. "But, I think Al's feeling better 'cause he remembers more about Mom than he thought." Dada smiles his warm dad smile at Al, the one that makes the skin around his eyes all crinkly and Al smiles back.

"Tell me about Mom, Al," Dad encourages.

"Well," Al begins, "She was gentle and kind. She sang to me and Brother when we were scared of sad and sang a lot of Beatles songs. She... she called you "Dear" and only called you that. I used to sit on her lap when I was sleepy so she'd pet my hair. When she was on chemo, she'd wear wigs sometimes but preferred scarves. Mom had a good sense of style, something Ed sadly didn't inherit." I glare at him, but I'm smiling.

"You smart ass," I laugh. "See? You remember a lot about Mom."

"One time," Dada begins and I pause the tape. I'd much rather listen to Dada tell us a story than watch a movie. "Mom decided she wanted to try to have a vegetable garden in the back yard. Now, Mom never was very good at keeping plants alive, but her mother is, so she figured it was in her blood somewhere. We made a little bed of soil surrounded by short fencing and Mom got planting. She planted carrots, snap peas, bell peppers, and tomatoes. You boys helped a lot. Al particularly liked planting. You weren't so interested in it, Ed. You just liked being outside and playing in the dirt. You are three and Al was two, still in diapers. He'd come outside with just a diaper on, waddling around in the grass and pat the dirt to encourage the plants to grow." Dada pauses, a distant look on his face.

"I remember," I breathe. "It was the summer before I started preschool. I wanted to make mud in the garden, but you and Mom wouldn't let me. I planted some seeds in but decided to run around the yard. Mom chased me and picked me up and tickled me." Dad nods.

"Basically, anytime you came outside to help Mom with the garden, it would end like that," Dad says. "Not that Mom minded. She loved playing with you boys."

"What happened to the garden?" Al asks.

"Oh, well, as the summer went on the garden began to sprout, much to our surprise," Dada tells us. "You boys were thrilled, of course, especially Al. He just loved to help Mom water the plants. Mom was so happy that they were growing, but no vegetables appeared to be growing. During a round of chemo, we were about to go visit her and I couldn't find Al anywhere. I was panicking because anytime you cannot find your toddler, you assume the worst. I was running around the house and saw Al toddling down the stairs to the back yard. I followed him and saw red, small tomatoes on the steps. I asked him what he was doing and he told me the plants grew fruits. Turned out, the tomato plant had produced some tomatoes and Al was trying to bring them to Mom."

"Did you put them in a paper bag?" I ask.

"That's right," Dad confirms. "We brought the tomatoes up to the hospital and showed them to Mom. She was so happy, she cried. She had never, ever kept a plant alive, let alone got one to produce anything. None of the other plants wound up producing anything, but that didn't matter to Mom. She was so proud of those tomatoes and Al was, too."

"Maybe we should try to plant again," Al says. "I think it would make Mom happy. Her favorite flower were tulips. We could plant those and some tomatoes." Dada smiles at him.

"We still have that spot," he says. "It's spottily covered with grass but we could get some soil if that's something you'd like to do." Al nods.

"I'd like that," Al replies. "That's something Mom and I did together and even if I can't remember, doing it now will make me feel close to her."

"I think that's what's most important," I tell him. "It's not about how many little details or events you can remember about her. I think what's important is to find something that reminds you of Mom or makes you feel close to her and just cherishing what you do remember."

"I agree," Dada affirms, making my blood feel sticky. "But I feel there's one other thing that's even more important than any of that." My brow furrows.

"What's that?" I ask.

"The most important thing is to remember that Mom loved you boys," Dada says. "She loved you both so, so much. Never forget that."

"That's the one thing I always remember about her," Al says, tears in his eyes. He sniffles and wipes his eyes, Dada turning toward the TV.

"Goodness," he sighs, "you boys were so cute when you were little." He pats Al's back, Al managing to wipe the tears away. "Shall we finish the movie?" Al nods.

"Yeah," he croaks. "And then maybe tomorrow we can go to Mom's favorite restaurant?" I grin, Dada nodding.

"I think we can make that happen," Dada replies, his arm around Al. We all cuddle up together on the couch and start watching the movie again. This is my safest place. All smushed on the couch with people I love. And since we're watching something with Mom in it, that only makes me feel safer.

My mom was an amazing person. She was everything you could want in a mom. She was kind, gentle, understanding, and she loved us. She kept us clean, comforted us when we were upset, sang to us, cooked the best food, and loved on us as much as any one person can love someone. I miss her. I miss her a lot sometimes. There are days that I see her everywhere; the trees, the flowers, the food I eat, something I smell and that makes me miss her so much that my chest hurt. But thing is, it's not like she was never here. She was here. She was here and she fought for her life all while loving us more than she loved anyone else. I wish my mom was still alive but at least I was lucky enough to have her. We all were. Everyone starts to sing happy birthday to Al on the tape and I blink away tears. Mom has such a loving face on and I can feel her love for Al and me radiating from the tape. I wish I could tell her right now how much I love her. I wish I knew that she knew that I loved her as much as she loved me. But since I can't tell her, I'll think it. I'll think it so hard and even though she's not here anymore, she'll feel it. We all still feel my love and I gotta believe that she can somehow still feel my mine. I'm gonna think about how much I love her and pray that she'll know how much I love her.

I love you, Mom.


	5. Chapter 5: Ed's Hospital Stay Part 1

**Hey everyone! Just wanted to let everyone know this chapter has been split into two because together, the story of Ed losing his leg clocked in at a whopping 44 pages! I also wanted to let everyone know these chapters are very hospital heavy and there is some mild (if there is such a thing) verbal child abuse. I can't think of anything else to say except enjoy and I'll have the second part up in a day or two! Thanks for reading!**

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 _Hardships often prepare people for an extraordinary destiny - C.S. Lewis_

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Hospitals have been a part of the fabric of my family's life since I can remember. Al spent a couple months in the NICU after he was born and mom spent six months on and off there after he was born getting her first round of cancer treatment. When I was three, the cancer came back, and we spent two years in the hospital off and on until she died. Then I started having sleepwalking accidents that resulted in me getting hurt. When I was five, I broke my arm and when I was seven, I needed stitches after sleepwalking. I got my tonsils out in second grade; Al got his appendix out when he was seven. ERs all over the county are where Vanessa would take us if we really needed to be seen by a doctor. Then, Al got his tonsils out when he was twelve and a couple weeks after that, had emergency bowel surgery 'cause he had a perforated bowel (long story). Al accidently overdosed fall semester and then I dislocated my shoulder the week of my birthday while sleepwalking. Most of the time, we didn't spend more than a week in the hospital, with the exception of Mom's treatment, Al being in the NICU, and Al's emergency surgery. Those were all pretty long, Al's emergency surgery being the shortest one in that group. And then there's when I lost my leg.

The story's pretty simple. When I was ten, before Al turned nine, I decided to run away and tell Granny everything. It was spring break and Dad was out of town for something. Don't remember what, though. He was in Chicago, though, and I think that's where my courage came from. Knowing he was two hours away made me feel better about what I was going to do. Vanessa had been terrible to us that week. We hadn't eaten since Dada left two weeks ago and I was scared. We both smelled horrible and the beatings had been rough. _She_ wasn't beating us much toward the end of the week, so we'd be mostly healed when Dada came home. Anyways, I knew Granny'd be at the garage so me and Al ran there. There's this big, old, metal fence around the garage and I had no intention of climbing it. That is, I didn't want to climb it until Al mentioned seeing _her_ car circling the front of the building like _she_ was waiting for us to show up. In a really stupid move, I decided to climb the fence and sneak into the garage. I climbed first so I could help Al over the jagged portion of the fence and wound up hurting myself. As I hoisted myself over the fence, a long and sharp piece of it went inside my left leg at the knee. I tried to force my leg free, lacerating my lower leg. I eventually managed to get my leg unstuck but my leg was seriously messed up. I could barely walk on it. _She_ dragged me and Al home and locked us in the basement until Saturday morning. My leg got infected 'cause I shoulda seen a doctor after I got hurt but I didn't. Dada came home and freaked out. My leg was oozing and bleeding and turning gross colors. After having a fight with her, he took me to the ER in town and let's just say my injury was way above their pay grade. I was coming down with sepsis, the bone had osteomyelitis, my leg was basically rotting off from the knee down, and the hospital in town is so small they don't even have a pediatric unit. We sat in a room, waiting to hear what they were going to do when a doctor came and delivered some of the worst news I've ever heard.

They couldn't save my leg. It was so far gone, no one could. Since they couldn't treat my sepsis and osteomyelitis in my knee, I was being transferred to a bigger hospital two hours away in Peoria that has a PICU and everything. Dada, Al, and I basically cried the while waiting for the transfer to happen. Dada had Vanessa pack bags for all of us and _she_ met us at the hospital. _She_ and Dad were still fighting but _she_ managed to choke out some fake tears as I got loaded up into an ambulance. The ride to the hospital was excruciating. Every bump and rough patch of road hurt my decaying leg more than I ever thought possible. I cried basically the whole way there. I got sent up to the PICU where my care team was waiting for me. My surgeon, Dr. Tuel is a nice lady who explained to me and Dada that she was concerned that I wouldn't survive my amputation right then because the sepsis was bad. She and the PICU attending doctor were gonna put me on some hardcore antibiotics for a few days, reevaluate, and hopefully schedule the surgery. I stupidly hoped my regimen of vancomycin, some cephalosporin I never learned the name of, and clindamycin would somehow save my leg. Dr. Tuel explained that if I got really bad, they were gonna risk surgery since my leg was the source of the problem. I really should have figured out then there was no chance of saving my leg.

My main PICU nurse was a nice lady named Kristin. That first day when I was bawling my eyes out, she calmed me down before doing anything with me and just held my hand. She explained everything she needed to do before she did it and made me feel a little less scared. The PICU is small – it only has, like, ten beds – so anytime someone was crying or screaming or coding, I could hear it. Anyway, Kristin got all my IVs started and told me and Dad that I wasn't allowed to get up by myself at all. A nurse had to help me. Dada could hold me but couldn't help me do anything. She explained that Dr. Tuel put me on a bland diet so I wouldn't be puking all the time. I still threw up, but the bland ass diet of rice cereal, popsicles, and broth did help. That first evening, Dada, Vanessa, and Al left to eat dinner. Dad reminded me to use my call light if I needed anything. I already learned in a few short hours that I was basically incapable of using a urinal, so they got me a bedside commode to use. It was near the bed, but I knew I couldn't try to use it on my own. Anyway, I was coloring when I suddenly had to pee. I reached for my call light and accidentally knocked it to the floor.

"Oh, no," I moaned miserably. Now what was I gonna do? I leaned over the edge of the bed but couldn't reach it. The door started to open and to my dismay Vanessa walked in. I squirmed both 'cause I had to pee and 'cause I was scared and _she_ smirked at me.

"Hey, shit head," _she_ greeted harshly. I whimpered and _she_ harshly asked, "What the hell's wrong with you?" I started crying a little and _she_ noticed the call light on the floor. _She_ picked it up and stared at me as I squirmed. I couldn't hold it much longer.

"Does someone need to go _potty?_ " _She_ mocked. I nodded, crying harder as I desperately attempted to hold it.

"P-Please," I begged. "Press the button. I d-didn't mean to drop it." Vanessa grinned toothily at me.

"Not happening, brat," _she_ told me. I cried even harder. I couldn't hold it anymore. After a few minutes of _her_ taunting me, I peed all over myself and that's when _she_ hit the call light.

"You bad, disgusting, dirty boy!" _She_ scolded. The door opened and Vanessa went on, "I can't believe you did that! You're way too old! You must have done it on purpose! Don't you care that you've made a big mess for the nurse to clean up!?"

"I-I'm sorry!" I wailed loudly.

"Excuse me," Kristin said softly. "What's going on?"

"My stepson peed the bed," Vanessa told her. "He's way too old to be doing that."

"I'm sure it was an accident," Kristin replied, defending me. She walked over and bent down. I was still crying when she asked, "What happened, Edward?"

"I-I had to g-go but d-dropped the call light a-an' tried to hold it 'til you got here b-but I c-couldn't!" I sobbed. "I'm s-so sorry! I didn't mean to! I can be a good boy!"

"Edward, sweet boy, listen to me", Kristin instructed gently, taking one of my hands, "I know it was an accident. I am so glad you didn't fall trying to reach the call light or take yourself to the bathroom. I know you didn't mean to, sweetie. It was just an accident." I hiccupped, Vanessa sighing. Damn, could _she_ put on a show. I meekly looked up at _her_ and _she_ genuinely looked upset.

"I'm sorry I yelled," _she_ said, _her_ voice shaking. "It's hard so hard to see Edward this way. He's usually such a happy, healthy, energetic boy." Kirstin briefly made a face but nodded.

"I can imagine this is difficult for everyone," Kristin replied. "But you have to keep in mind that Edward is critically ill with a very traumatic injury. He can't do the things he normally can and yelling at him for things he can't control won't help." Vanessa crossed _her_ arms and the door opened again. Al and Dada came in. Dad ignored Vanessa 'cause I was upset and he was really pissed at _her_ and asked,

"What's going on? What happened?"

"Oh, see, Ed –"

"Ed peed the bed again," Vanessa interrupted, Kristin making a face again. "Might have done it for attention." My lip trembled and I shook my head, Kristin patting my hand as I wailed,

" _N-No, I d-didn't!_ "

"Dad, Edward dropped his call light," Kristin explained. Dada nodded.

"I'm sorry about _her_ ," Dad said quietly. " _She_ has been in a bad mood all day because we're staying with my first wife's mother and _she_ doesn't always know how to handle it when the boys have a potty accident." Dad gently petted my hair as I cried, trying to calm me down. "It's okay, little man. It's okay. We all know you didn't mean to."

"Ed, why don't we get cleaned up?" Kristin suggested. "I think that'll make you feel better." I nodded but could hear Vanessa hissing something to Al under _her_ breath. _She_ had a tight grip on his arm.

"Al," I called weakly. Al looked back at me, begging me with his eyes to help. Dada looked, too, and said,

"What's going on here?"

"Alphonse was sucking his thumb again," Vanessa answered stiffly.

"Let go of his arm, please," Dada told _her_ firmly. "Al is only doing it because he's stressed out and worried about Ed. Cut the boys some slack." Vanessa's upper lip stiffened and _she_ let Al go. Al hurried over to Dad who picked him up.

"I'm going back to Mildred's house," Vanessa announced. "The boys are just too much for me." _She_ left, Dada sighing and hanging his head.

"How long have the two of you been married?" Kristin asked. Dad adjusted Al and sat down on a chair next to my bed.

"Oh, let's see," he hums. "Almost four years."

"Your wife seems like _she's_ not very connected to your children," Kristin pointed out, my heart beating rapidly.

"Oh," Dad said sadly. "Well, I suppose _she's_ not. On our first date, _she_ told me how much _she_ disliked children. I was taken aback and showed _her_ pictures of my boys. _She_ didn't call me for a week after that." Dada chuckled weakly. " _She_ tried harder when they were littler but now... I don't know. _She_ didn't even call me when Ed hurt himself and claimed _she_ couldn't take him to the ER because he was too scared and screaming. It just... doesn't sit right with me." I really hoped as a little kid that finally, finally, Dad had caught on. That he realized just how much Vanessa despised us. That the abuse would end. But it didn't.

"I'll get in touch with social work," Kristin told him. "They can meet with you two and help Vanessa learn how to deal with children. But ultimately you need to decide what's best for you and them." Dada nodded and Kristin turned to me and said, "Okay sweetie, how does a bed bath sound?"

"I've never had one before," I hiccupped.

"Dad can help us if you want and it'll make you feel so much better," Kristin told me. I nodded and she smiled at me.

"Can I help?" Al asked timidly.

"Of course you can," she enthused. "You're Alphonse, right?" Al nodded. "Okay, Alphonse, in the tall cabinet there are extra sheets, blankets, bed pads, and gowns. Why don't you grab one of everything and bring it back? While you do that, I'll fill the basin with nice, warm water." Al nodded and slid off Dada's lap. He went to the cabinet and Dada chuckled fondly at him.

"That boy just loves to help," he commented. I nodded and Dad said, "Al's got a very big heart." I nodded again. I knew that Al had a big, tender, gentle, loving heart. I knew 'cause I took care of him when Dada was gone. Al came back and Kristin set the water down on the bedside table.

"Dad, why don't you pick him up and I'll put clean linens on the bed," Kristin suggested. Dad nodded and picked me up. I clung to him, Kristin quickly swapping the soaked bedding for dry stuff.

"Okay, set him down on this bed pad," Kristin said again. Dada did and kissed my forehead. "Ed, do you want Dad and Alphonse to leave during your bath?" I shook my head.

"Dada's gonna help, right?" I asked nervously.

"If you want him to," Kristin told me. "I was just making sure you were okay with that."

"Yeah, I want him to stay," I said. Kristin smiled and wet some rags.

"Dad, help him with his gown and put a bath blanket on his lower half," Kristin instructed. Dada helped me (I was too weak to do it by myself) and covered me with the bath blanket. I sniffled, starting to cry again.

"Sweetie, what's the matter?" He asked worriedly.

"I d-don't feel good a-an' my leg h-hurts an' V-V-Vanessa y-yelled at me!" I cried.

" _Shh_ ," Dada comforted. "It's okay. It's okay, sweetheart. I'm right here, it's okay. I'm not going to yell at you." I wiped my face, Kristin handing me a warm, soapy rag.

"Do you want to wash your own face?" She asked. I nodded. She handed Dad a rag and said, "You clean your side and I'll clean mine. This is a no-rinse soap so all we have to do is dry him off when he's clean." Dada nodded.

"Okay," he replied. Al watched as I washed my face, Dad and Kristin washing my arms, chest, and tummy for me. They dried me off and moved the bath blanket to my top half. Kristin gave me another rag and said,

"Try to wash your own privates, okay?" I nodded. I did, Dada and Kristin washing the rest. Kristin was on my left and was very good about avoiding the huge bandage covering my whole leg. The bandage was soaked with blood. They dried me off and Dada asked if I could wear pajamas from home. I didn't like the hospital gowns.

"Sure, but I need to change his dressing first," Kristin told him. "It's soaked through. I'm going to run and get some pain medicine for him. I'll push it and in thirty minutes I'll change it. He can wear a pajama shirt and cover up with a blanket on bottom until I'm done with the dressing change."

"Okay," Dada replied. "When does nightshift arrive?"

"Around seven," Kristin replied. "I'll give report in here with his night nurse and if you have specific bedtime concerns and questions, you can ask them then. I'll be right back." Kristin left and Dada helped me put on a warm pajama shirt. He pulled the blankets up over my lower half and kissed my hair.

"You are such a trooper," he praised. "I'm so proud of you."

"Brother, I drew you a picture," Al said.

"Yeah?" I asked weakly. Al nodded and held up a crayon drawing. It said " _Feel Better Soon, Brother! Love, Alphie_ " and was a picture of Al and me.

"Wow, thanks!" I enthused. Al grinned and put it on my chest. I weakly picked it up and looked at it. "Can we hang it up, Daddy?"

"Let's ask Kristin," Dad answered. Kristin came back in and noticed Al's drawing instantly.

"Oh, wow," she said, "that's a very nice drawing!"

"Al drew it for me," I told her.

"That was so nice of him," Kristin said cheerfully.

"Can I hang it up?" I asked.

"Of course you can," she replied. "It'll brighten the room up a bit." Dada room Al's drawing and Kristin said, "Show me your wrist with your ID band." I weakly lifted my hand up and she asked me, "What's your name and birthday?"

"Edward von Hohenheim-Elric," I answered. "My birthday is February 3, 2000." She scanned the ID band and said,

"Thank you. Did you do anything fun for your birthday last month?" I shook my head and my lip trembled.

"I, uh, wanted to go to this place that had, like, these indoor trampolines and ball pits and stuff to climb on but..." I trailed off, my throat getting tight. "But I got in trouble and couldn't have a party. I haven't had a real birthday party in a long time."

"Wait," Dada cut in, "Vanessa told me you thought ten was too old for a birthday party. _She_ told me you didn't want to do anything this year. The grounding was a coincidence." My face got red.

"Oh, um," I squeaked, Kristin messing with my IV tubing, "Yeah. I also didn't want one. I, um... lied before."

"Can we go there for my birthday?" Al asked, trying to change the subject off me, "Please, Dada? I know I don't have any friends to invite but Winry can come and maybe Ling and Mei? Please?" Dada blinked and smiled at him.

"Oh, sure, Al," Dada replied. "That sounds like fun." I looked gratefully at Al as Kristin said,

"I'm flushing your IV. This might hurt a little bit nothing's wrong with it." I watched her and she touched the IV site a little before saying, "Okay, here's your morphine, some tummy medicine, and some stuff that'll help with any itching you might feel because of the morphine. How's your pain right now? Look at the faces on your whiteboard if you aren't sure." I nodded and pointed to the face that was crying 'cause it "hurts a whole lot". Kristin nodded and pushed the morphine. That always felt tingly.

"All done," she told me. "I'll come back in about thirty minutes to do the dressing change on your leg."

"When's his next dose of antibiotics due?" Dada asked.

"Eight tonight," Kristin answered. "His night nurse will handle that."

"Thank you," Dada said. Kristin left and I sighed.

"Dad, the antibiotics are killing the infection, right?" I asked. Dada looked at me.

"What?" He asked. He shook his head and said, "I'm sorry, Ed. My mind wandered. What did you say?"

"The antibiotics are killing the infection," I repeated. Dada nodded so I said, "So, if they kill the infection, I might not lose my leg, right?" Dad sighed and gave me a sympathetic look.

"I don't think so," he replies.

"How come?" I asked miserably.

"Because your leg is the source of the infection," Dada explained. "It would take a long time to get rid of the infection which means it would take a long time for your leg to heal. The infection is really bad, honey. They need to get you well enough to survive surgery, Ed. They think it would put your body under too much stress. I'm afraid you're losing your leg, sweetie." My lip trembled. It just wasn't fair! I tried to do something to help Al and me and wound up hurt. It wasn't my fault Vanessa locked us up, didn't call Dada, and didn't take me to the hospital. If _she_ had taken me to the ER the day it happened, I think it's possible that they could have saved my leg.

"It's not fair," I mumbled, tears in my eyes.

"I didn't say it was," Dada replied. "I just have so many questions about that day. Why didn't Vanessa call me?"

"Did... did Granny call you?" I asked softly.

"Actually, she did," Dada said. "She told me you got hurt but that Vanessa was taking you to the ER. I was annoyed that Pinako called me, but Vanessa didn't bother to."

"It's 'cause Granny loves me and _she_ doesn't," I said before I could stop myself. I heard Al gasp and I covered my mouth with my hands. That was bad. I couldn't believe I actually said that out loud.

"Edward," Dada breathed, "What do you mean?" My brain scrambled for something to say but I couldn't think of anything. My stomach churned and all I managed to say was,

" _She_ yelled at me," before throwing up all over myself. Dad quickly put a basin on my lap and I threw up into it.

"Ed," Dada sighed, rubbing my back, "I know Vanessa yelled at you but that doesn't mean _she_ doesn't love you. _She_ just has a hard time showing it. I'll talk to _her_ at Nana's house about the yelling, okay? _She_ needs to know how much it bothers you." I hiccupped and wiped my face. The throw up was mostly on me so Dada changed my shirt for me.

"Sorry," I whimpered.

"Nothing to be sorry for, little man," Dada replied using Mom's special nickname for me which only made me miss her and made me feel like shit.

"I miss Mom." Dad and Al looked right at me. Al's lip trembled and Dada nodded, taking my hand.

"I miss Mom every single day," Dad told me. "I know how much it hurts. I asked Vanessa to pack a picture of Mom for you. Let's see if _she_ remembered." I nodded and Dada grabbed the hospital bag. He pulled Lamby and my blankie out and handed them to me. I watched as he searched, finally pulling a picture out.

"Here we go," Dada said. He handed me the picture and I smiled. It was the picture of Mom from my dresser, the one I sometimes talked to as a little kid. Okay, the one I still sometimes talk to.

"I like this one," I said, putting it on my bedside table. "I, uh, talk to the picture sometimes. Is that crazy?"

"I don't think so," Dada replied. "I talk to a picture of Mom in my bedroom sometimes."

"What do you tell her?" I asked, Al getting up into Dada's lap.

"Mostly things about you boys," Dada answered. "But I talk about work sometimes. Sometimes, I just tell her I love her and miss her. What about you, Ed?"

"I like to talk to her about school," I said. "I tell her about stuff I like an' stuff that happens to me an' secrets."

"Secrets?" Dada questioned. I swallowed.

"Uh, yeah," I squeaked. "Like girls I like an' secret feelings I can't tell anyone else." That was mostly true. But that picture of Mom heard me pour my heart out about more than that. It heard me cry because I couldn't keep Al safe. I unloaded all my stress, fear, details of the abuse, and the burden of taking care of Al to that picture a lot growing up. I've told more to that picture than I have anyone else.

"It's good to have something to talk through those feelings, isn't it?" Dada asked. I nodded.

"Yeah," I said softly.

"I talk to Mom," Al chimed in. "I think she likes to hear about school, but I also tell her about you, Dada, an' Brother an' cats an' books I like an' my favorite toys."

"That's awesome, Al," Dada enthused gently. "I'm sure Mom loves hearing all about that stuff."

"I hope so 'cause if she doesn't I must be really boring," Al said matter of factly. I giggled; Al's always been funny without realizing it. He just says things and doesn't know just how funny it was.

"You goof ball," Dada teased fondly. He kissed Al's hair and Al looked at me. He asked what he said with his eyes and I told him that he's just funny. Al shrugged.

"Dada, can you and Al spend the night?" I asked, starting to get nervous about spending the night in the PICU alone.

"Well, I can but Al can't," Dada replied. I looked at my lap and Dada asked, "Are you worried about staying here alone?" I nodded weakly.

"Uh-huh," I whimpered softly. A baby was crying somewhere, an alarm was blaring, and some kid was screaming. I really didn't want to stay there alone.

"We'll see how things go at Nana's," Dada told me. "I might come up to stay with you after Al goes to bed." I nodded.

"Why are they screaming, Dada?" Al asked apprehensively.

"They might be scared or in pain," Dada replied. "The kids here are very, very sick, Al." Al nodded, though I could tell he was uncomfortable. I really didn't feel good. The morphine was making me tired and my stomach was upset. My whole body ached, I was freezing, and my leg hurt like hell.

"Ed, did you get some dinner while Al and I were eating?" Dada asked.

"No," I answered. "I'm not hungry. I don't feel good." That kid was still screaming so I asked, "Can we watch a movie or something? Please?" Dada nodded and turned the TV on.

"Vanessa didn't pack any movies," Dada told me, handing me the remote. "Al and I will walk down to child life and find one to watch. Anything you really want to watch?" I shrugged.

"I don't know," I whined. " _Star Wars?_ "

"I'll see what we can find," Dada told me. "C'mon, Al." Al whined a little bit left with Dad. I weakly flipped through channels, trying to keep my mind off how bad I felt and how noisy the PICU was. Someone knocked and I looked over at the door. It was Kristin.

"Hey," she greeted. "Where did your family go?"

"Looking for movies to watch," I answered, rubbing my eyes.

"I see," Kristin said. "It's time to change the dressing on your leg. How's your pain?"

"I'm achy," I complained. "My leg hurts but it's not so bad."

"That's good," Kristin replied. She noticed Lamby and asked, "Who do you have with you?"

"This is Lamby," I said, showing her the lamb. Kristin nodded and pointed to the picture of Mom.

"And who's that?"

"That's my mom," I told her. "She died when I was five. She had cancer. I miss her, so I talk to this picture sometimes."

"I'm sorry," Kristin said, sitting on the edge of my bed. I shrugged and she asked, "How are things at home?" I tended up, staring at my lap.

"Fine," I answered instantly. "My stepmom just doesn't understand me an' Al, that's all."

"Want to talk about that?" Kristin asked. I shook my head.

"No," I replied.

"What about school?" Kristin asked me.

"I like school," I told her. She began getting things ready to change the dressing and she prompted,

"Yeah?" I nodded.

"Yeah," I echoed. "I like to learn stuff, but it's hard when Dada leaves. He travels for work. I miss him when he's gone so school's hard then and I get bad grades." I barely noticed her pulling off the old bandage as she asked,

"What's your favorite subject?"

"Science," I told her, wincing. " _Ow_."

"I'm so sorry," Kristin apologized. "Want to look at your leg?" I shook my head.

"No," I answered miserably. I wanted to keep talking about school.

"Okay," she replied. "What other subjects do you like?"

"Math," I answered, grimacing. Even with pain medication, it always hurt when they changed my dressing or messed with my leg. "I like being outside, so I like gym class. An' I like to read. History's kinda boring, but I still sorta like it."

"What are you learning about in history?" Kristin asked.

"Um, American history," I said. "Like, we learned about the Revolutionary War and then the Louisiana Purchase an' now we're learning about Lewis and Clark."

"What did they do?" She asked, patting my leg dry.

"Well, they went on this huge adventure to, like, learn about the land Thomas Jefferson bought in the Louisiana Purchase," I told her. "They saw lots of new plants an' animals and met lots of Indians. Sacajawea was helping them an' she had a baby with her! She's pretty cool, I think. I gotta make a journal like they would. I gotta say where I'm going and talk about new plants an' animals. Dad says that if we put my journal in the oven when it's all done, it'll look super old." Kristin was wrapping my leg and nodded.

"Wow, that's so cool," she enthused. "When is that due?"

"A couple weeks," I said. "Am I gonna get held back?"

"No," Kristin replied, taping the dressing. "We have teachers who can come and help you with school while you're here."

"Al, too?" I asked. "Dada's gonna wanna stay with Nana Elric an' Al's gotta stay with him."

"I think we can actually make that work," she replied. "I'll talk to child life, but I think as long as your dad has the work both of you need, the teacher can assist him and you at the same time." I nodded.

"Well, that's good", I said. My brow furrowed and I asked, "Are you done already?" Kristin nodded and I gasped; "Wow! How'd you do that?"

"It's because I kept your mind off of it," she explained. "Just like when I put your IVs in. If we talk about other things, you don't notice a lot of what we're doing."

"You're so cool!" I told her enthusiastically. "How'd you learn to do that?" Kristin threw all the gross stuff away and chuckled at me.

"You learn a lot of stuff after school to make being a nurse easier," she said. "So, do you know what you want to be when you grow up?" I shrugged.

"I don't really know," I replied. "I'm not really good at anything. My stepmom says I'll just end up at McDonald's cause I can't even follow simple directions." My eyes widened and I shook my head. "I didn't mean to say that. Please don't tell anyone I said that!"

"Edward," Kristin sighed, "sweetie, you can tell me if something is going on at home." I shook my head.

"Nothing is!" I told her frantically. "I can just be a bad boy sometimes, that's all!"

"So, how did you hurt your leg again?" Kristin asked me and I was sweating. Why was she asking so many questions?!

"I, uh, was... I climbed a fence and hurt it," I told her. Kristin nodded.

"Okay," she replied. "It's all right, sweet boy. You're not in trouble." I wiped my face, realizing I was crying. I hid my face, Kristin holding my hand.

"S-Sorry," I cried. "It's just my stepmom doesn't really like me or Al very much. I try to be good but it's never good enough!"

"Oh, sweetie," Kristin sighed. "I'm sure that's tough." I nodded.

"I-I try to be a big boy for Al a-an' a good boy but it never works!" I sobbed. " _She_ just doesn't like me!"

"Have you told your dad?" Kristin asked me. I shook my head.

"I'm scared he won't believe me," I told her. "An' I don't wanna hurt his feelings."

"What if I taught you some ways to tell him how you feel?" She asked. I looked at her.

"You'd do that?" I whimpered.

"Of course," she said with a smile. "You can try saying "I" instead of "you". You can tell him, "I feel like my stepmom doesn't like me. When _she_ yells at me, I feel like nothing I do is good enough for _her_ or for you". You can also try telling your dad how hard you're trying to meet _her_ expectations and feel like you never can. Maybe he can talk to _her_ and work on some more appropriate expectations for you and Al." I wiped my face.

"Thanks," I said pathetically. "You're nice." Kristin squeezed my hand.

"I want you to know that nobody, not even a parent, should treat you that way," Kristin said. I looked away. As nice as it felt to hear that, it never felt true. I really, truly believed that I deserved how I was treated. Al didn't, of course, but somehow, I did. I just couldn't say that to her. I had already told her too much.

"Okay," I said hoarsely.

"I'll be back in a few minutes with your nighttime nurse," she told me, letting go of my hand. I wiped my face as Dada and Al came back.

"Oh, hello, Kristin," he greeted cheerfully. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," she answered. "I just changed Ed's dressing. He did very well and told me all about school."

"Good job, Ed," Dada praised. "I'm sure that hurt. I'm very proud of you." I grinned weakly.

"Yeah an' she talked to me the whole time to keep my mind off it," I told him.

"Thank you," Dad said gratefully. "Poor Ed's been through enough the last couple days."

"I agree," Kristin replied. "I'll be back in a little while with his night nurse." Dada nodded and Kristin left.

"We found _Star Wars_ , Brother," Al told me. "It's the one you like the best." _The Empire Strikes Back_ is my favorite.

"Thanks," I replied. "Good job, Alphie." Al grinned ear-to-ear as Dada got the movie started.

"The playroom is awesome," Al told me. "There's lots of toys and games and crafts and puzzles! If you're feeling better soon, we can go together."

"I wanna go," I replied.

"How are you feeling?" Al asked, crawling up into bed with me.

"Terrible," I answered. "I'm so sleepy an' I'm cold an' my head hurts an' my body aches."

"I'm sorry," Al sighed, cuddling up next to me.

"That's okay," I told him. "You make me feel better." Al smiled and Dada got the movie started. He sat down next to us and took my hand.

"I'm sorry you don't feel well," Dada told me softly. "I'm sure this isn't fun."

"It's not so bad right now," I said. "It's kinda like a cold or for flu. I bet it'll be worse tomorrow."

"Since we got you on antibiotics so quickly, maybe you'll avoid some of the tougher parts of the infection," Dada said. "I know you're sick to your stomach." I nodded, feeling really shitty all of a sudden. I bet it was a combination of being sick, freaking out about having to sleep in the PICU alone, and that talk I had with Kristin.

"I don't feel good," I whine.

"I know, little man," Dada soothed. "I know."

"Hello," Kristin said, walking in with another nurse. "This is Tara. She's taking over for me. She'll take care of you tonight." I nodded and they updated the whiteboard.

"Nice to meet you," Dada said.

"I'm going to give Tara a brief report and then if there are specific things about bedtime she needs to know, you tell her," Kristin explained. She and Tara came closer to the bed and Kristin said, "This is Edward Elric. He's ten-years-old, from Resembool, and was admitted for sepsis and osteomyelitis of the left leg related to a traumatic injury. The plan is to get him well enough to have surgery to amputate the leg above the knee. He's on a bland diet until surgery, weighs 25.2 kg, and can transfer to the bedside commode with assistance and verbal reminders to put all his weight on his right leg. He's got a 22 gauge in his right hand and a 22 gauge in his left AC. The IV in his AC is running 125mL per hour of lactated ringer's solution. Edward is on vancomycin, clindamycin, and ceftazidime, has Tylenol as needed for pain, morphine, Zofran, Benadryl, and Pepcid. Dad says he can take pills fine, but Ed hasn't needed Tylenol on my shift. He did get Zofran, Benadryl, and morphine about an hour ago. Edward isn't supposed to get up unassisted or with Dad's help but can be picked up and cuddled as tolerated. He hasn't had any dinner because he's feeling sick and I did his dressing change about thirty minutes ago. He did have a bed bath today."

"Okay, awesome," Tara said. "Anything you want to add, Edward?"

"Um, I go by Ed," I told her.

"Okay," she said with a smile. "Questions or concerns?"

"I'm scared of staying here alone," I admitted.

"I bet it's scary," Tara said. "Your dad can stay with you overnight."

"Yeah but he's got Al," I said. "So, Dada might not stay and I'm scared."

"Do you have anything from home?" Tara asked. I nodded.

"Lamby, my blankie, and a picture of my mom," I answered.

"Well, if you get scared you can hold or talk to them," Tara suggested. "And you're always welcome to hit the call light and me or your tech can come in and talk with you, cuddle you, basically whatever you need." I nodded. That did make me feel a little better.

"Anything you want to add, Dad?" Tara asked.

"Well, um, he usually goes to bed around nine," Dada told her. "He has to go potty before and brush his teeth. Ed has pretty bad nightmares and night terrors so if Al's okay staying at Nana's with Vanessa by himself I'll be here. Ed wets the bed occasionally and I'm worried it'll be worse here because of stress and severe illness and..." Dada trailed off.

"Does he wear anything special to bed?" Tara asked.

"No," Dad answers. "But he is in pajamas from home."

"That's perfectly fine," Tara told him. "Whatever makes him more comfortable."

"And it's really okay for him to ask you to sit with him?" Dada pressed. "If he does wet the bed, should he hit his call light?"

"It's absolutely okay for him to ask me to sit with him," Tara assures him. "And yes, if he wets the bed, he should hit his call light. Any other questions?"

"I don't think so," Dada said. "Ed? You okay, buddy?" I nodded and rubbed my eyes.

"Yeah," I groaned. I was so tired.

"I'll come back in a little bit to hang one of your antibiotics," Tara told me. I nodded and fell asleep way before she came back.

I had a horrible dream that first night in the PICU. I think it was the first time I had my reoccurring dream about the fence. Except that night, after Vanessa got me, I dreamed that _she_ was the one who actually hurt my leg. I still remember it. We were in the basement and I was tied up. Vanessa had this huge knife and told me because I was bad, _she_ had to hurt me. It all felt so real. In the dream, _she_ stuck the knife into my leg and basically ripped it to shreds. I was so scared and when I woke up, I was alone in the dark. My IVs were pulling at my skin and my leg hurt like crazy. I was soaking wet and just let out the loudest scream ever. My lungs hurt I was screaming so loud.

"Ed? Edward? What's wrong?" Some lights turned on. I wasn't screaming anymore. I had thrown up and was sobbing. My nurse, Tara carefully sat on the edge of my bed and said, "What's wrong, buddy?"

"I-I had a b-bad dream!" I wailed.

"Oh, no," Tara said gently. "I'm so sorry. I'm sure it was very scary." I nodded.

"I want my daddy!" I cried.

" _Shh_ , I know," Tara comforted, delicately rubbing my back. "I know. I'm right here." I cried for a few minutes, Tara calming me down slowly.

"I wet the bed," I admitted to her pathetically.

"That's okay," she soothed. "I'll help you clean up."

"Can I sit with you for a little while?" I asked, still crying a little.

"Sure," Tara agreed. "I'll have the tech get your bed changed while we cuddle." I nodded and she picked me up. Tara changed my clothes and grabbed Lamby for me. She held me close, disconnecting my vital sign monitoring stuff and pulling my IV pole behind her. The lights were dimmed and I clung on to Tara. She patted my back and walked to the nurses' desk. She sat down and said,

"Jen, can you change the bed in room 5? Ed had an accident in bed and threw up." I meekly glanced up at Jen and she grinned at me.

"Sure," she replied. Tara cuddled me closer and I rubbed my eyes. I was so tired. But I missed Dada. I knew I couldn't be selfish and hog him, but I wished he could stay with me and cuddle me. But Tara did her best to comfort me and make me feel safe. She rubbed my back and whispered softly in my ear.

"My goodness," she said softly. "You're so cuddly. Most ten-year-olds don't want to cuddle. I bet your dad loves that you're so cuddly." I nodded.

"I'm scared a lot," I admitted sleepily.

"You are?" Tara asked me. I nodded.

"Hmm, yeah," I yawned. Tara exhaled and cuddled me a little tighter.

"Okay, his bed's ready," Jen announced softly. "I put his clothes from home and his blanket in a bag for his dad to wash tomorrow."

"Thank you," Tara said softly. I yawned again, Tara rubbing my back until I fell asleep again.

Over the next couple of days, I fell into a sort of pattern in the PICU. Mornings were for resting and child life stuff. I always felt worse in the morning and right before bed, so I spent my mornings building puzzles, coloring, and getting visits from Nana, Granny, and Winry somedays. I usually ate a little broth and some Jell-O for lunch, went to the bathroom, then spent the afternoon on lessons with the hospital teacher. Dada had arranged everything so both me and Al could do work in the hospital and go back to school when I was recovered. We did school from 12:30 until 4:30. That's when I started to feel shitty again and Dada or my nurse would try to force something down me. I'd spend the evening watching movies and then I'd get a bath and brush my teeth before bed. Dada would spend the night with me one night then spend one with Al the next night. The screaming and codes sometimes made it hard to sleep but when Dada was there, I felt better. If Dada wasn't there, my nurse sat with me or cuddle me until I fell asleep. I was always in pain, constantly throwing up, and was tired all the time. Dr. Tuel came every day to look at my leg and check on my white blood cell count and every time she'd say,

"We're getting there. We're getting there."

The worst part about the PICU started around day three. I was running high fevers at night and in the early morning. As a result, I was delirious at nighttime and in the early morning. I was trying to get up on my own and had begun trying to pull out IVs and oxygen tubing. I can't remember a lot about being delirious except that even though I knew I was doing that stuff, it also didn't feel like me. It felt like I was outside my body watching it. Anyways, the first night I was dangerously delirious, Dada was at Nana's with Al. I think they called him, though, 'cause he was there really early that morning. That night, I was trying repeatedly to get up and take my IVs out. I was talking utter nonsense and even lashed out at Kelsey, the nurse working with me. I guess she felt to keep me safe she had no choice but to restrain me. Yeah, restrain me. They do that in hospitals sometimes if someone is trying to pull out important tubes or is really violent. I had no idea they did that until Kelsey put soft wrist and ankle restraints on me and tied them to the bed. It didn't really bother me at first until I woke up after falling asleep. My hands and feet were restrained to the bed, it was dark, I had to pee, and I was alone. I was so terrified. Part of me thought my dream about Vanessa hurting my leg was really happening. I whimpered softly, trying to get free. I was still a little out of it, but I wasn't actively trying to hurt myself anymore. I started crying, writhing painfully in bed as I tried to free myself.

" _Help me!_ " I called, hyperventilating. "Please! Help me!" I struggled some more, starting to pee myself as I fought against the restraints. Now I was scared that I'd be in trouble for that, so I cried even harder.

"Ed, it's Kelsey, your nurse," Kelsey announced softly. "What's wrong?"

"I'm all tied up!" I wailed. "Wh-What did I d-do wrong? I can be a good boy! I mean, I did just pee in bed, but I didn't mean to, honest! You gotta help me!"

"Calm down, sweetie," Kelsey instructed gently. "Deep breaths." I was crying too hard to do what she wanted me to do. I was so scared. Waking up disoriented and tied up is the horrifying. I was only ten, so that horror definitely got amplified.

"I-I c-can't!" I sobbed loudly. "J-Just let m-me go! I'll b-be g-good!"

"Edward," Kelsey soothed. "Edward, you're okay. Stop fighting. You're okay. I'll help you if you can calm down. Try breathing in with your nose and out with your mouth." I was sobbing but did my best to breathe like she told me to. I was starting to calm down a little, but I was still crying.

"Honey, I'm so, so sorry you're so scared," Kelsey told me. "We restrained you because you were going to hurt yourself if we didn't. We didn't do it to punish you or because we think you're bad, I promise. You're a good boy, Edward. I'm going to release your restraints now." I nodded, still crying.

"I'm sorry," I cried pathetically. Kelsey freed my hands and shook her head.

"Sweetie, it's okay," she assured me, freeing my feet. "Honey, I was just trying to keep you safe. That's all. You don't need to be sorry." I was wailing, Kelsey patting my back. " _Shh_ , it's okay. It's okay. We need to get you cleaned up, Ed. Are you ready to get your jammies changed?" I nodded and she picked me up. Kelsey got me changed and called my tech into the room. Dada asked for a rocking chair and Kelsey sat down in it with me in her lap. I was still crying and she started to rock gently back and forth, back and forth. My tech changed the bed, setting Lamby at the pillow for me. Kelsey just held me for a few minutes, helping me to feel safe again.

"Wh-Where's my dad?" I whimpered.

"He's at your nana's house with your little brother," Kelsey told me gently. "Dr. Tuel ordered some medicine to help you sleep since you've had some trouble sleeping. Do you want some?" I shrugged.

"I don't know," I croaked.

"It might also make you feel less scared," she explained. I didn't realize it then, but she was talking about Ativan. Doctors just love to put scared, delirious kids on benzodiazepines for some reason, even though sometimes it only makes things worse.

"I'm sorry," I whimpered miserably. "I can be a good boy."

"Ed," Kelsey sighed sadly, "you weren't bad, okay? I just need to keep you safe, that's all. Want to try the medicine to make you sleep?" I nodded. I figured I needed it 'cause when I wasn't having nightmares, I was just lying awake in bed, listening to the teenager next to me code and the baby on the other side scream. Ugh; the PICU is awful. Kelsey stood up and tucked me into bed.

"I'll be right back," she assured me. I nodded and she left. I turned the light above my bed on and grabbed the picture of Mom.

"Mom," I whispered, "They tied me up. I guess I was doing stuff I'm not supposed to. I'm so scared. The big kid next to me is fifteen. He's not doing very good. His heart keeps stopping." Just as I said that, I heard the alarm in his room go off. I sat straight up. I could hear nurses run to his room and they were all talking loudly.

"Call code blue!" One yelled.

"I'm starting compressions!" Yelled another one. I started to shake. I was scared that when I got my surgery, I'd be that boy. I was scared of coding. The hospital announced his code and I sat shaking in bed. I laid back down, put Mom's picture back, and hid under my covers. I had Lamby squeezed under my arm as I tried to not think about that boy. He seemed funny. I heard him talking sometimes during the day with child life. They were always laughing and Al told me they did models and LEGOs with him. He seemed cool. I could hear the team struggling for a long time before someone finally said,

"We're calling it. He's gone." That's when I started crying again. Even though I'd didn't see it happen, I imagined the whole thing in my head. I saw nurses pounding on his chest desperately trying to keep him alive. And now he was gone. As a kid, you don't really think about other kids dying if you're healthy. Like, to you kids are people who don't die. Unless a friend dies or you're in the hospital or something, the idea of a kid dying is really abstract. I think that night was the first time I really, truly comprehended that kids die just as easily as grown-ups. I understood that kids can have bad hearts or infections that won't go away or die from traumatic injuries. That fifteen-year-old kid's death was what made me realize that death was something that could happen to me. The surgery could kill me. The sepsis could kill me. The infection in my bone could kill me. I could die. That became very real to me in that moment as I hid under my covers and cried.

"Ed?" Kelsey asked softly a few minutes later. I peeked out from under the covers and she smiled at me. "What are you doing under there?"

"The boy next door is dead," I said simply, crying a little. Kelsey sighed and nodded her head.

"The PICU walls are pretty thin, aren't they?" She asked me. I nodded and sat up.

"I could die," I told her, my voice shaking. Kelsey walked over and sat down on the edge of my bed.

"Sepsis is tricky," she said, "but Dr. Tuel is an awesome doctor and she's doing everything she can for you. You're doing very well for a kiddo with sepsis. I know it's scary listening to a code." I nodded.

"I've never really thought about kids dying before," I said quietly. "It always seemed like something old grown-ups did or something that happened to people like my mom."

"How did your mom die?" She asked.

"Cancer," I answered. "She was in a coma, I think, for a long time. Like a month and then she died. Maybe she coded. I don't know."

"That sounds awful," Kelsey sympathized. "It's hard watching someone you love go through that." I nodded and rubbed my eyes.

"Why couldn't the doctors save my mom or the boy next door?" I asked pathetically.

"Sometimes we do everything we can possibly do but it just isn't enough," Kelsey explained solemnly. "If a person is sick enough or weak enough or old enough or their bodies have just been through so much, nothing we can do will save them. I don't know what kind of cancer your mom had but cancer really takes a toll on people. Your mom's body just couldn't do the work it takes to stay alive and sometimes nothing us nurses and doctors do can change that. Everyone dies and we can't save everyone."

"Is it hard?" I asked.

"It can be," she answered. "Working with kids, it's really hard when you do everything possible to save a kiddo and it just doesn't work out. Watching people suffer is such a challenge but at the end of the day, I get to assist in healing and saving lives. I honestly can't think of anything better that I could do with my life." I sniffled and wiped my face.

"Do you believe in Heaven?" I asked. Kelsey nodded.

"I do," she replied. "What about you?" I shrugged.

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "I want to. I wanna believe in God and that my mom is really in Heaven, but it just doesn't seem real. My dad believes in that stuff. He says Mom's in Heaven and we can see her again if we believe in Jesus, but I don't believe it."

"Sometimes it takes a long time to figure out what we believe in," Kelsey told me.

"The hardest part is Al believes it and I gotta pretend that I still do," I told her.

"Still do?" Kelsey asked. "Do you mean you used to?" I nodded.

"When I was younger, I believed in all that," I said. "But now I don't know what to believe. But Al likes to talk about that stuff and how Mom's in Heaven and I just go along with it, so I don't hurt his feelings. I want Mom to be in Heaven. I want it to be real. I just don't feel it."

"It's okay not to feel it or not know what you believe about that stuff," Kelsey assured me. "It can take a lifetime to figure it out. Until you know, read lots of books and ask lots of questions. You'll figure it all out in time."

"The boy next door, was he hurting or scared when he died?" I asked.

"He was unconscious so it's hard to say," Kelsey answered. "But just know that he was surrounded by people doing everything they could to save him and his mom was with him the whole time." I blinked and looked at my lap.

"I'd be scared if it were me," I mumbled softly. Kelsey patted my head and softly said,

"I have that sleeping medicine if you still want it." I nodded. I definitely needed Ativan after all that. She scanned my ID bracelet and said,

"If you need to talk to someone about the code, let your nurse know in the morning and we can get someone to come talk to you." I nodded and she pushed the Ativan through my IV. She tucked me back in and wished my goodnight. I stared at the ceiling anxiously until the Ativan finally put me to sleep.

I got restrained again the night after that boy coded. Dada was there that time and was able to calm me down and I was out of the restraints in thirty minutes. I was having trouble focusing on anything following that boy's code and the fear of being in restraints and dying were way too much for me. The in-house child psychologist came to see me my fifth morning in the PICU. She was really nice, and she sort of walked me through my fears, so I understood them and that made them less scary. Like, she explained that the PICU only restrains kids who are going to hurt themselves and even though it's not fun, it's for their safety. She told me I didn't have to like the idea of being restrained, but that I shouldn't be terrified of it either. It actually helped except when I'd get restrained overnight when I was really out of it and then come to, not remembering why I was restrained. That morning after the psychologist saw me, Dr. Tuel came in. Al and I were coloring and Dr. Tuel talked to us about our art for a minute before pulling a chair over in front of Dad and sitting down.

"Well, I've got news," Dr. Tuel announced. "It could be good or bad depending on how you look at it." I swallowed hard and Dada asked,

"Is this about surgery?"

"It is," Dr. Tuel replied. "His leg is just getting worse and worse. The sepsis is improving very slowly, but the osteomyelitis in his knee is getting more virulent. The infection in his knee spread to the shin bone. Essentially, I feel like if we don't amputate soon, we run the risk of septic shock, even respiratory distress or failure. I believe he's as well as he can be, so I've approved him for surgery. He'll be in pre-op tomorrow morning, around 5:30."

"Okay, and after that?" Dada asked anxiously. I stared at my lap. I had really hoped that Dr. Tuel was gonna say I didn't need surgery. I really didn't want to lose my leg.

"After he spends some time in recovery, he's being brought back here," Dr. Tuel answered. "I'd like to get him out of the PICU in about two days post-op, but that all depends on how he's doing. If I feel it's safe, we'll move him to the general peds unit, and he'll start meeting with PT and OT."

"What about a prosthesis?" Dad asked. "How do we go about doing that?"

"We'll give you information about that post-op," Dr. Tuel told him. "Your son is a good candidate since he's so young. PT and OT will measure his stump and can even try some extras on hand toward the end of his stay, so he has an idea what it'll be like to use one. I'd recommended Shriner's for the rest. They're excellent with orthopedics and prosthetics. There's one in St. Louis and Chicago that you can choose from. They'll make him a custom one and monitor his growth, so they can be ready to machine a new one."

"Okay, thanks," Dad said. "This is all so overwhelming. I didn't even know where to start." Dr. Tuel nods.

"I can imagine how confusing it must be, but I'll do my best to cover every detail in his post-op paperwork, including how he can transfer without a prosthetic, resources, wrapping the stump, and when he can shower following surgery," she said. "I don't want you and your family to feel alone in this. We're here for you and him every step of the way."

"We all appreciate it, don't we, Ed?" Dada said. I nodded.

"Yeah, 'cept I really don't wanna lose my leg," I told them. "Isn't there anyway to save it?" I was desperate. I was terrified at ten-years-old of being wheelchair bound. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to run, play on the trampoline, go swimming, or anything like that again. And what if I couldn't learn to walk with the prosthetic? What then? There was just too much uncertainty for me to handle.

"We've looked at this from all angles," Dr. Tuel reminded me. "I know losing a limb is daunting and scary, but to save your life I just don't see a way around it. It's too severely injured and it's too infected. I'm sorry, Edward, but this is the only way. Your dad can change his mind, of course, but this really is the only option with the best clinical outcomes for you."

"Why can't I choose?" I demanded. "It's not fair! I wanna choose!"

"Children cannot consent for themselves when it comes to procedures, treatments, and surgery," she explained. "What that means is children can't give a doctor permission to amputate their leg or initiate chemo or take their tonsils out. Their parents or guardians have to do that. Your dad, acting in what he feels is your best interests based on the clinical information, has decided to have your leg amputated. Is it fair? In some ways, no, but I'd say it's very fair overall since his decision is going to keep you alive." I crossed my arms, pouting a little.

"Ed," Dad addressed. I looked at him with a pouty lip and he said, "I heard that you can pick the colors on your prosthetic." I perked up a little.

"So, I could, like, have flames or skulls on it?" I asked.

"If that's what you wanted," Dada chuckled, Al shuddering.

"Scary," he whined. "Put something nice on there. Like Pokémon or fish."

"It's my leg," I reminded him snappily. "I can put whatever the hell I want on it!"

"Edward," Dada warned. "Don't say that word and be nice to Al."

"Sorry," I apologized. "I don't hafta pick right now. You can help me, okay, Al?" Al nodded.

"Okay, I will," he agreed, clearly taking it very seriously.

"Any other questions for me?" Dr. Tuel asked.

"When is he supposed to stop eating and drinking?" Dad asked.

"After dinner is a good rule of thumb, especially since he has fluids running," Dr. Tuel replied. "Completely safe for him to stop after dinner. If his mouth or throat get dry, he can always have ice chips."

"How long's Brother's surgery gonna be?" Al asked.

"A couple hours," Dr. Tuel told Al. "It's not just the amputation. We have to tie off every single blood vessel in his leg and shape the residual bone which can take a very long time."

"When can he leave the recovery room?" Dada asked.

"Well, since he's septic, we're going to continue ventilation in the recovery room," Dr. Tuel explained. "If he stabilizes, I'll be comfortable taking him off in the recovery room. Then he'll stay until he's off supplementary oxygen and/or drinks a little on his own and keeps it down. If he's not stabilizing in the recovery room, we'll move up to the PICU on the ventilator."

"And if that happens how long will he be ventilated?" Dada asks.

"Depends on how he's doing," Dr. Tuel said. "Sepsis is hard, especially on tiny bodies. He's small for his age and he's going through a pretty stressful surgery. He might need the breathing help for a couple days. Any other questions or concerns?"

"Yes, Ed's been very delirious the last couple days and I don't think the Ativan is working," Dada said. "It helps him sleep but if they give it when he's upset, he only gets more upset and anxious." Dr. Tuel nodded.

"Benzodiazepines can cause paradoxical anxiety," she said.

"He's being restrained and the psychologist talked to him about it but it really stresses him out," Dada went on. "Is there anything else we could try?"

"We could try trazadone at bedtime and sticking to a stricter schedule," Dr. Tuel suggested. "We can try to incorporate a similar routine here to what he follows at home. You should speak with the nurses and we'll make a schedule that staff should follow and that can help prevent delirium. We'll keep Ativan on board just in case, but we'll have a nightly trazadone to be given before bed. We'll also try to get a sitter in his room when he's delirious rather than restraining him. Sound good?"

"Yes, thank you," Dada said. Dr. Tuel stood up and said,

"If you think of anything, let Kristin know or you can call me directly." Dad nodded and she left. I sighed and hung my head.

"Man," I mumbled, upset that I had to still lose my leg.

"Ed, I'm sorry," Dada apologized. I glanced over at him and wiped my nose on my hand.

"Yeah," I said miserably.

"I just think this is the best thing to do," Dada defended. "I don't want you to lose your leg and if there was another way, we'd do it but there's just not. I'm sorry, sweetie."

"Whatever," I grumbled. Al squirmed a little and I said, "Al's gotta go."

"Well, it's time for lunch anyway," Dada said, standing up. "C'mon, Al. Ed, want us to eat up here with you?" I shrugged.

"I doesn't matter," I muttered.

"It's okay if you want some alone time," Dad said gently. "You need to process what's going to happen tomorrow." I nodded, sniffling a little.

"Yeah, I gotta be alone," I croaked, wiping my face. Dad kissed my hair and squeezed my hand.

"Okay, sweetie," he said softly. "If you need me, call Kristin and she'll call me."

"Bye, Brother," Al said. "Eat some lunch." I nodded and they left. I sniffled and laid down. I hid under my covers and hugged Lamby tight, starting to cry. I didn't want to lose my leg. I knew it wasn't gonna get better, but I didn't want to lose it. After a few minutes, someone knocked on the door. I pushed the covers off my face. The door opened and I sat up, gasping;

"Teacher!" Teacher smiled at me. She had lots of balloons and two gift bags.

"Hey, Ed," she greeted. "How are you feeling?"

"Really bad," I admitted, Teacher walking over. She sat on my bed and I said, "My tummy's always upset and I'm achy and I throw up a lot and my leg hurts."

"When's your surgery?" She asked.

"T-Tomorrow," I said, my voice shaking. I started to cry again and said, "I don't w-wanna lose my leg! I won't be able to be your student anymore!"

"Oh, Ed," Teacher sighed, "We'll make it work, okay? I'm sure you can do martial arts with a prosthetic leg."

"What if I can't learn to use it?" I cried.

"Come now," she said. "You're young and strong. You'll learn to use it." I sniffled and Teacher showed me the balloons.

"You didn't have to," I sniveled miserably.

"You mean I didn't have to buy all these balloons for my little bug to cheer him up and brighten the room up?" Teacher asked me. When I was little, Teacher would call me "Bug" and Al was "Bean". It was a special nickname and every once in a while, Teacher or Sig will still call me that. I remember it made me feel a little better when she called me "her little bug". I nodded and she grinned. "Nonsense. I had to do that."

"Al makes drawings and we put those up," I told her. "And I got cards from Ling and Winry and Rose. And Granny bought me a book to read."

"That's very nice of them," Teacher said. "Do you like your balloons?" I nodded. There were about six balloons. Five of them were red and said, "Get well soon, Edward!" In the center was a Pokémon balloon with lots of Pokémon on it.

"They're awesome!" I enthused. "Thank you. You really didn't have to bring me anything."

"Bug, don't give me that," she said, moving the balloons to the window. She came back and handed me one of the bags. "Here, buddy."

"A present?" I asked.

"A bunch of presents," she corrected. "I brought a present for Al, too." I hesitantly took the bag.

"I don't know," I said nervously. "I'm not supposed to."

"Says who?" Teacher asked, the door opening. Vanessa came in, glaring at Teacher.

"What are you doing here?" Vanessa demanded, _her_ lip upturned.

"I'm here to see Ed," Teacher replied calmly, taking my hand.

"Well, do you know where Victor is?" Vanessa demanded, crossing _her_ arms.

"No," Teacher answered. She turned to me and gently asked, "Where's your dad?"

"Cafeteria," I squeaked quietly, "Al's with him eating lunch."

"He's at the cafeteria," Teacher told her. "If you're meeting him for lunch, that's where he is."

"Well, he did tell me that he's sick of Ed complaining all the time," Vanessa mocked harshly. "'Dada, my tummy hurts. Dada, I don't feel good. I don't wanna lose my leg. I peed in bed again. Dada, I'm sleepy!' I know if I spent as much time up here as he does, I'd get so sick of all the crying. It's all he does. He's losing a leg – big deal. Speaking of, when is that leg getting chopped?" I sniffled and hung my head.

"There's no reason to mock him like that," Teacher informed her, angry. "He's suffering a terrible loss."

"He's been such a brat here," Vanessa claimed. "They've had to tie him down the last three nights. He doesn't deserve anything you've brought for him."

"Well, _I_ say he does," Teacher argues. I hid my face as they went at it. Teacher _really_ hated Vanessa and Vanessa _really_ hated Teacher. Whenever they were together, all they did was bicker and I couldn't handle it. "Maybe if you can't be nice to this critically ill little boy, you shouldn't be here." Vanessa clenched _her_ jaw and glared at Teacher.

"You really need to stop getting involved where you're not wanted," Vanessa warned. Vanessa left and Teacher sighed. She rubbed my back and said,

"I'm sorry. You can open your present now." I shook my head, my throat tight.

"No, I can't!" I said pathetically. "I can't 'cause I've been a brat and a bad boy! I did get tied up and I do cry all the time and pee in my bed!"

"Edward," Teacher soothed, "none of that is your fault. You haven't been a bad boy. That woman is just nasty. How your father doesn't see it I'll never know." I meekly looked at her.

"It's really okay to open this?" I asked. Teacher nodded.

"I promise you that it's okay," Teacher assures me. I nodded and with shaking hands I took paper out of the bag. There was lots of stuff inside. The first thing I pulled out was a pretty big stuffed dragon. I gasped as I pulled it out. It was a really fat, dark green, super soft stuffed dragon. I was a big fan of the _How to Train Your Dragon_ books and immediately thought this fat green dragon with a mischievous grin looked like the book's Toothless. Yeah, the movie's version is cooler, but the movie hadn't quite come out yet, so I was way more familiar with the book's Toothless.

"He looks like Toothless!" I exclaimed, hugging him. "He's so soft and fat! Thank you! Thank you!"

"You're welcome," Teacher chuckled. "There's more in there." I nodded and set Toothless down next to me. I pulled out a kid's book about a boy that gets in an accident and loses his leg. It wasn't a picture book; it was a chapter book that had some pictures in it. I flipped through it, my lip trembling.

" _Oh,_ " I whimpered. It was such a nice gift. She was trying to find ways to make losing a leg less scary and almost normal. She wanted me to feel like I wasn't alone or a freak.

"I figured you'd rather have a chapter book than a picture book," Teacher said gently. I nodded, sniffling as I started crying.

"Th-Thank you," I cried, clinging on to the book.

"Want me to finish opening your present for you?" Teacher asked. I nodded and she pulled out a pack of fun, fuzzy, no-slip socks, treats I could eat a few days after surgery, and a new LEGO set. Teacher set the bag down and pulled me into a hug. I was sobbing, so touched and happy that she loved me that much. I mean, how many kids taking martial arts have this kind of relationship with their teacher? I don't think many do. But our relationship was special, and she really did care and love me and Al. She still does.

Teacher cuddled me and got me calmed down. Kristin came in and gave me some medicine, marveling over some of the gifts Teacher had brought for me. Once Kristin was done, Teacher hung out with me and we started my new LEGO set. We got some of it built before Dada, Al and Vanessa came back. As soon as Al saw Teacher his whole face lit up and he squealed,

" _Teacher!_ "

"Come here and give me a hug, little bean," she said. Al practically ran over, giving Teacher a big hug. Dada chuckled and said,

"It's so nice to see you, Izumi. The balloons really help brighten up the place."

"Dada," I said softly, feeling Vanessa's eyes on me, "Teacher got me a dragon and a book about a kid who loses his leg and some fuzzy socks and candy and a LEGO set." Dada looked gratefully at her.

"Thank you," he said. "That was very kind."

"It's no problem," Teacher assured him. "Al, I brought you a present, too." Al made a face.

"M-Me?" He questioned softly, his voice shaking.

"Yes, you," Teacher replied. "I left it by the window." Al shook his head.

"No, I can't, I'm sorry," he whispered to her. "Bad boys don't get presents." Teacher sighed and patted his head.

"Victor, can you bring me that gift bag by the window?" She asked. "Al's not sure he can open it."

"You silly boy of course you can," Dada told Al, getting the gift bag. "She brought it for you." Vanessa glared quickly at him, Al shrinking away. Dada handed Teacher the gift bag and she said,

"Here, it's yours." Al shook his head again.

"I don't know," he said nervously.

"Go ahead, Al," Dada encouraged.

"B-But it's not my birthday or Christmas," Al pointed out.

"Alphie, that doesn't matter," Dada said. "Teacher bought this for you. You can open it. It's okay." Al swallowed hard and he hesitantly pulled paper out of the bag. He pulled out the gift – a stuffed blue dragon to match mine.

"He's so fat, it's cute," Al giggle weakly. "I love him. Thank you."

"What are you gonna name him?" Teacher asked.

"Mine's Toothless," I told him.

"Then mine's Hiccup," Al decided.

"Are you going to see the movie when it comes out?" Teacher asked. Al nodded, putting a thumb in his mouth.

"Yeah," he replied. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Teacher said. She got up and I frantically grabbed her arm.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"It's a little crowded in here, Ed," she told me. "I think I should go so your family can stay. Sig and I will come see you after your surgery, okay?" I gripped on to her arm tighter.

"Please don't go," I begged, getting teary-eyed.

"I have to," Teacher said gently. "But I promise I'll visit again soon. Be brave, okay?" I nodded, wiping my eyes.

"Okay," I croaked. Teacher gave both me and Al a hug before leaving.

"It was very nice of Izumi to bring the boys presents," Dada said, I think to Vanessa who was staring at _her_ phone.

"Oh, yeah, uh-huh," _she_ replied, clearly not interested. I saw Dad roll his eyes and walk to the bed. He sat down, Al and me staring at him with wide eyes.

"How do you feel, Ed?" He asked. I shrugged. After Vanessa had said Dad was sick of being with me, I wasn't sure what I could say to him. Could I tell him how crappy I felt? I really didn't know.

"Aren't you tired of hearing me complain?" I asked miserably.

"What?" Dad asked, confused. "Of course not. You're sick and in pain. It's okay to tell me how you're feeling."

"I don't feel good," I admitted softly.

"I'm sorry," Dada soothed. "Did you eat?" I shook my head, my eyes stuck on Vanessa.

"I don't feel good," I repeated.

"That's fine," Dada assured me. His phone went off and he sighed. "That's work. They need to talk about my prolonged absence. I'll be right back." I shook my head and he kissed me before leaving. Instantly Vanessa turned to me, glaring.

"You think you are so clever," _she_ hissed. "What did you think would happen if you pulled that shit? I've told you a thousand times, shit head, what I say to you doesn't get said to anyone else. You get stupider by the day, I swear." _She_ leaned over and yanked my stuffed dragon off my bed. "You're too old for this ugly thing. Izumi must think you're such a baby. Well, you sort of are. Or she thinks you're a dog who needs a chew toy. Which one is it?" Tears of shame filled my eyes and I shook my head.

"Give it back," I pleaded.

"Think I'll hold on to it," she told me. " _Toothless?_ Is that what you named him? You need to outgrow those books already." I choked, Al scurrying toward the widow to hide. _She_ picked up the book and flipped through it, _her_ face twisting in disgust. "Way to make a big deal out of nothing. Too bad that leg's getting chopped tomorrow. Too bad it's all your fault." I nodded. I totally believed it was my fault. I mean, _I_ was the one who decided to go to Granny's shop. _I_ was the one who said we needed to hop the fence. _My_ decisions got Al and me locked in the basement for two days. To me at ten-years-old, I agreed that I was losing my leg solely because of my own actions.

"I know," I managed to say miserably. The door opened and right on cue, Vanessa changed _her_ tune;

"This is so soft. What a nice present." Vanessa gave Toothless back and I saw Kristin was in the room.

"Hey, Ed," she greeted softly. "That's a nice dragon! Who got that for you?"

"My martial arts teacher," I answered, wiping my face. "It was in the present with all this other stuff."

"How nice of her," Kristin enthused. "Does he have a name?" I nodded.

"Toothless," I replied. "Book Toothless, not movie Toothless."

"I didn't know there were books," Kristin said.

"A whole bunch," I answered. "I've read them all."

"You like to read, don't you?" She asked. I nodded and showed her the book Teacher gave me. Vanessa groaned softly as I said,

"Teacher gave me this, too. It's about a boy my age who gets in an accident and loses a leg." Kristin smiled.

"I think that's a good book to read before surgery tomorrow," she told me. "Nervous?" I nodded as Vanessa complained,

"Is there a reason you're in here?" Kristin looked over at _her_ and nodded.

"I'm here to see if he needs to potty and then I'm going to change the dressing on his leg," she explained. Vanessa nodded and Kristin returned her focus to me; "Do you need to go potty?" I nodded and Vanessa didn't miss a beat;

"He'll probably just pee all over himself and the floor like yesterday. He needs to learn to use the urinal for crying out loud." My lip trembled and I hung my head, starting to cry a little.

"Ma'am, that was really not necessary to say," Kristin told _her_ coldly. "Your step-son is critically ill and critically injured. Things he can do alone usually are just not possible right now. What happened yesterday was not his fault. He was a little delirious and tried his best despite that. As for a urinal, some little boys have trouble peeing lying down or peeing sitting in bed. Kiddos can have trouble with bedpans, too, at first. The night shift offers him the urinal at night and according to Kelsey, he tried several times last night and finally went a tiny bit. He's doing the best he can. You need to be patient, understanding, and kind to him." Vanessa nodded, crossing her arms.

"You're right," _she_ agreed stiffly. "I think I'll just go." Vanessa left, Al watching curled up on the couch like a bug. I was still crying and Kristin rubbed my back.

"You sweet boy," she sighed, clearly upset by the way Vanessa was treating me. Vanessa had been cruel the whole time I was in the PICU and I know Kristin put in the social work consult. I'm also pretty sure she called child protective services, but Vanessa's cruel words and callous attitude wasn't enough evidence to do anything. It was never enough.

"I'm s-sorry a-about y-yes-yesterday!" I sobbed, hiding my face. I was so upset and scared and embarrassed and humiliated. I didn't need Vanessa reminding me of every mistake and convincing me that losing my leg was my fault. I had more than enough to deal with.

"Ed, it's okay," she comforted. "You tried your best but couldn't hold it. It's okay, sweetie. It happens. Why don't we just try again now? I'm sure you'll make it this time." I nodded and wiped my face.

"I'll try," I whimpered. Kristin helped me up and got me on to my bedside commode with no problems at all.

"See?" She said with a smile. "You're doing just fine. You go potty. I'll get everything ready for your dressing change." I nodded, Kristin turning around. The door opened again, Dada walking in and shutting it behind him.

"I saw Vanessa leave," he commented. "Did something happen?" I hung my head as Kristin shook hers.

"She said something not nice," Kristin told Dad honestly. "Brought up an accident Ed had yesterday and said he needed to just learn to use the urinal. It's normal for a kid his age to struggle with peeing lying down while in bed. It feels all wrong." Dad nodded and looked over at me.

"Did he get up okay?" Dad asked, walking over and petting my hair.

"He always does," Kristin replied. "He was upset so we're trying to potty before I change his dressing."

"Have you gone potty?" Dada asked. I blushed and shook my head.

"No," I answered. "There's too many people."

"Ah, I see," Dada said. "I'm sure it's hard to pee with me and Al and your nurse in the room. Al and I can wait outside. Want us to do that?" I nodded and Dada walked over to Al. He took Al's hand and they left, Kristin putting everything she needed on my bedside table. It took a couple of seconds, but I finally managed to pee. It is hard to pee in front of an audience, something you don't really think about until you gotta be in the hospital.

"I went potty," I told her proudly. Kristin smiled proudly at me.

"Good job, sweetheart," she praised. "I'm so proud of you. Let's get you back in bed so I can change your dressing." I nodded and she got me in bed. Dada and Al came back, and Dad anxiously asked,

"Well?"

"He did just fine," Kristin assured him. "Took a little while but he just needed privacy."

"How much did he go?" Dada asked.

"100 mL," Kristin answered. "We need to encourage fluids before dinner." Dada nodded and walked over to my bed.

"You doing okay?" He asked, Al standing next to him. I nodded.

"Yeah," I replied. "I just don't feel good. My body hurts."

"I know, sweetie, I know," Dada comforted. "You're doing such a good job and you've been so brave. I'm so proud of you." My lip trembled and I wiped my eyes.

"Thanks," I said. Kristin began my dressing change and talked to me, Dada, and Al the whole time. She asked me if I wanted to see it and I said no. I never did have the guts to look at it when I was in the PICU. Kristin got it clean and bandaged and I wound up taking a nap until dinner.


	6. Chapter 6: Ed's Hospital Stay Part 2

_"I see you. I sit on this couch all day long and, I see you. You try so hard to be unnoticed by me and my child. I see your face drop a little when (s)he sees you and cries. You try so many ways to ease (her)his fears... You put aside what's happening in your life for 12 hours straight to care for very sick and sometimes dying children. You go into each room with a smile no matter what's happening in there... I see you. We all see you. No amount of snack baskets or cards can fully express how appreciated you are... Our children wouldn't get what they need without you." - Taken from "I see you": Shelby Skiles' thank you letter to the pediatric nurses who cared for her daughter_

* * *

The night before my surgery, I barely ate dinner because I was so nervous and following dinner, I couldn't drink anymore. Dada was gonna spend the night with me the next few nights, so Nana came up to get Al. She visited for a while and brought me some more balloons, a card, and a stuffed bear. Even though I felt like I didn't deserve all the gifts 'cause it was my own fault I was losing my leg in the morning, the gifts did make me feel a little bit better. It's always nice to feel like someone cares about you. Anyway, at shift change my night nurse, Tara, went over all the pre-op details with everyone in the room. Dada needed to get me up before five. All my medications were gonna be held until after surgery. If I needed to go pee, a nurse would help me. Transport would be there around five o'clock to take me to a pre-op room. There, the nurses would hook me up to more IV fluids, give me drugs to make me silly, and put a catheter in me. After that if Dr. Tuel was ready, I'd be wheeled to the OR. There they'd put me to sleep, intubate me (that's where they put a tube down your throat and ventilate you), and start the surgery. I knew what happened after that. Dr. Tuel said that I was gonna be intubated but not necessarily sedated after surgery. The time frame was to wean me off the ventilator in thirty-six hours or less, then in a day or two get the catheter out. Once the catheter was out of my white blood cells were up, I'd get transferred out of the PICU to the general pediatric floor and start meeting with physical and occupational therapy. They were gonna teach me and Dada how to use crutches with one leg, how to take baths, get dressed, and go to the bathroom safely and eventually by myself. Nurses would teach me to change the dressing and wrap my stump and that'd be it. I'd go home.

The whole thing sounded so clinical and it scared me. Nobody addressed the fact that I may not be strong enough for surgery and that I could die. Nobody mentioned that the initial post-op period could put so much stress on my tiny, sick body that I may have to be put in a medically induced coma and on a ventilator for a long time. No one talked about how I may not be able to learn to use a prosthetic with a knee. No one talked about how drastically my life and my family's life was about to change. That wasn't the important part, I guess. That only scared me more. It almost felt like I wasn't allowed to talk about the what if's and how scared I was. All I knew was that I could bring Lamby with me if I wanted to. What I really wanted was for Dada to stay but that, of course, couldn't happen. Honestly, what I really wanted was for my leg to heal but that wasn't gonna happen, either.

That night Dada tucked me in and I barely slept all night. I dozed off a little but never managed to fall asleep. I turned the light on over my bed and read the chapter in the book Teacher gave me where the boy (his name's Peter) gets his surgery. I read that he was scared, just like I was. He had to wait a couple days before his surgery and was really scared. He had the same fears about learning to use a prosthetic that I did. He was wetting the bed and waking up screaming and peeing in his pants and lying awake at night, worrying about dying or never being able to do the things he loved to do. That made me feel less alone. It made me feel like maybe what I was going through was more normal than I thought. It was okay to be scared and mourn the loss of your limb. It was okay because for a while, you lose your independence and there are things you just can't do with a fake leg. That boy, even though he was fake, understood what I was going through and made me feel less scared. He made me feel understood and after I read that, I managed to nap until Dada had to wake me up.

I remember that my eyes were itching. I whined and told Dad I was sleepy. He got Tara to come in and help me go to the bathroom. I managed to go, and the transport team took me and Lamby down to the pre-op room. Dada walked next to my bed and held my hand as the transport team pushed the bed down to pre-op. When we got into the room, Dada pulled up a chair and sat next to me. He held my hand and talked softly to me 'cause he knew I was still scared. A nurse came in and got my IV fluids running again. She then gave me the medicine to make me goofy. After a few minutes, she came back and I was out of it. I can't remember a lot of the pre-op time. I sort of remember a nurse putting the catheter in but it's fuzzy. Everything is until I woke up, intubated, in the recovery room. I remember moaning, unable to talk because of the tube. I was woozy and confused, not really sure what was going on. I tried to talk, but it hurt and only came out as gurgling. I was scared so I started crying, weakly grasping at my breathing tube.

" _Shh_ , it's okay, Edward," Dada comforted. I turned my head toward him and touched my throat frantically, trying desperately to tell him that I couldn't talk. "Sweetie, it's okay. Your surgery's all done. Don't mess with that, okay? That's your breathing tube. That's supposed to be there and you can't talk when it's in. I'm right here, okay? You're okay." I was crying, Dada taking my hand. He petted the back of my hand with his thumb, whispering softly to me. I was still pretty out of it and I can't remember a ton in between waking up and going back to the PICU. I do remember that nurses kept saying my oxygen saturation was low, so I was struggling to breathe. Dr. Tuel decided to send me back to the PICU on the ventilator with a standing order that a nurse could remove it if she felt I was okay and she called Dr. Tuel about it first.

"Mr. Elric, transport is coming to bring you back to the PICU," someone said.

"When is the tube going to be removed?" Dad asked. "Ed's awake and freaked out."

"That's up to Dr. Tuel." Dada squeezed my hand and I squirmed.

"Ed, hold still sweetie," Dada instructed gently. "You're okay, little man. You're okay. _Shh_ , you're okay." I whimpered, tapping my throat. I was confused. I didn't understand why I couldn't talk.

"Daddy," I tried to say, only it sounded like gurgling and not like an actual word.

"Ed, sweetie, you're okay," Dada assured me. My heart was racing. I remember the bed started to move. Dada walked next to the bed and we got back to my room in the PICU. I was starting to panic by then. I was trying to pull my tube out and didn't like the catheter. I tried pulling that out, too, and Dada frantically said,

"Ed, honey, don't do that!" When I didn't stop, Dada hurried to the door and yelled, "Ashley! We need you!" Dada hurried back to the bed and my nurse that day, Ashley, hurried in. I couldn't breathe because I was messing with my breathing tube. Ashley reacted fast, calling for help and restraining me to the bed. I tried to scream but it just came out as gurgling.

" _Shh_ , _shh_ ," she comforted, the monitor beeping loudly as my respirations and heart rate skyrocketed and my oxygen saturation plummeted. More nurses came in.

"Edward, I'm giving you some Ativan to calm you down. It's a shot, so do your best to be brave and hold still." I shook my head and Dada helped hold me down. They stuck me and I cried, Dada wiping my tears away for me.

"Sweetie pie," he cooed, "It's okay. It's okay."

"Okay, that should kick in soon," Ashley said. "I think we need to put him under until it's time to remove the breathing tube. I'll talk to Dr. Tuel and see what she thinks. She may want to avoid sedation to make weaning him easier." I couldn't stop crying but felt my eyes get itchy again.

"Okay, thank you," Dada replied, squeezing my hand. "Keep me posted." I was getting tired, my grip slipping on Dad's hand.

"That's it, that's it," Dada comforted. "Get some sleep, honey. It's going to be okay." That was the last thing I heard before falling asleep.

The next several hours, I would briefly wake up, not sure of what was going on, try to take out my breathing tube or catheter, then fall asleep again. Sometime over night, I woke up, moaning as I opened my eyes. I tried to talk, only gaging and gurgling. Dada was sitting next to me, sleeping in a chair. I reached weakly for my call light but couldn't reach it. I tried again to talk, managing to choke out something that sounded like,

"Daddy." Dada instantly woke up and rushed my side.

" _Shh_ , _shh_ ," he comforted. "I'm right here. I'm right here." I was restrained, my breathing increasing. I pulled against them, Dada pushing my sweaty hair back. He leaned over and pushed the call light for me. My nurse came in and Dada said,

"Any way we can get him out of these restraints and remove the breathing tube?" I looked over and say it was Kelsey.

"Dr. Tuel said that we can call her and ask if we think he's ready," Kelsey explained. "It looks like he's ready to breathe on his own. I'll take off the restraints and call Dr. Tuel." Dada nodded and Kelsey gently removed the restraints. She left, Dada petting my hand. I was crying, tapping my throat like I was in the recovery room.

"I know, sweetie," Dad comforted. "You'll be able to talk when the tube is gone." I shook my head, Kelsey coming back.

"Okay, we're going to take the tube out and put him on oxygen," Kelsey explained. Kelsey walked over to me and said, "Edward, I'm going to remove your breathing tube. Stay still, okay? I'll take it out as fast as possible." I moaned and nodded, Dada taking my hand.

"One, two, three." Kelsey pulled the tube out and I gagged and coughed the whole time. My eyes watered and I kept coughing after the tube was out. I couldn't breathe, so Kelsey gently said, "Deep breaths, Ed. Take big, deep breaths." I did, finally able to breathe again. I rubbed my eyes, Kelsey putting a cannula for oxygen in my nose. That's when I noticed the NG tube in my nose.

"Eh, wh-what's th-this?" I asked hoarsely.

"That's a tube that'll be giving you food until Dr. Tuel thinks you're ready to eat," Kelsey explained gently. I really didn't understand but that tube would be one I'd try to pull out along with IV lines and my catheter during future delirium episodes.

"How do you feel, Ed?" Dada asked.

"I don't know," I croaked. I was really disoriented and had no idea what was going on or what time it was. My throat hurt and so did basically everything else. I was miserable. "D-Did I have my surgery?" Dada nodded.

"Yes, and it was a little harder on you than anticipated," Dada explained. "That's why you had a tube in your throat. You're doing a lot better now." I groaned and rubbed my eyes again.

"Can we go home?" I asked, Dada shaking his head.

"Not yet," he replied.

"Poor thing's exhausted," Kelsey commented. I saw Dad nod.

"Dr. Tuel wants him in bed otherwise I'd rock him to sleep," Dada told her.

"Want me to give him some Ativan?" Kelsey asked.

"No, thank you," Dada replied. "I find he doesn't always get good rest when he's given Ativan." Kelsey nodded.

"Okay, do you need anything right now?" Kelsey asked.

"I don't think so, thank you," Dad said. Kelsey left and Dada tucked me in.

"Dada," I moaned hoarsely, my left leg feeling tingly and like it was still there somehow.

"Daddy, my leg's tingly."

"Okay," Dada soothed, tucking me in. "Focus on my voice, little man. You need to get some sleep. You're sleepy, aren't you?" I nodded, too tired to really process that my leg was really gone. No, that reality wouldn't hit me until later.

The next time I woke up, I was still sort of confused. I moaned and rubbed my eyes, not sure where I was or what time it was or anything. I sat up, wincing because my whole body hurt. I could feel the NG tube and the catheter, and it was really uncomfortable. My head felt like it was full of mud and my vision was kinda blurry. I rubbed my eyes and looked around. I was alone. I saw blankets on the pullout couch by the window and all the balloons and cards people had brought to me. My IV pump started beeping and I weakly called out,

"Daddy?" The beeping was driving me crazy and making me anxious, so I decided to get up and find Dad on my own. I pulled back my covers and gasped, seeing my stump for the first time. I was in a hospital gown, my legs bare and open to air. My hands started to shake as I gently touched the top layer of bandages covering my stump. They were wet. I pulled my hand away, blood on my fingers. Now I was really scared. I was all alone, had tubes and lines everywhere, and a bleeding stump.

" _Daddy!_ " I cried loudly, starting to hyperventilate. The door opened and I frantically turned toward it, my nurse Kristin coming in.

"M-My leg's gone," I told her pathetically, my whole body shaking. Kristin nodded and walked over to me.

"Yes, it's gone," she confirmed. I looked up at her and started to cry.

"Wh-Where's my dad?" I sobbed, holding Lamby tighter.

"He went to get some coffee," Kristin comforted. "He'll be right back, I promise. Are you in pain?" I nodded.

"My whole body hurts!" I wailed. Kristin nodded and looked at my stump.

"We need to change your dressing, sweet boy," she told me. "Is your tummy upset?" I nodded, crying like a little baby.

"Uh-huh," I cried.

"Okay, I'll go and get your morphine and some tummy medicine," she explained. "I'll be right back. I need to assess you and then I'll change your dressing. Sound like a plan?" I nodded.

"O-Okay," I cried, shivering. Kristin pulled my covers over me and patted my hand. She left, leaving me alone. I touched my NG tube, not remembering what it was there for. My catheter tube was tapped to my right thigh, so I lifted my covers up and traced the tube both ways. I couldn't remember what that was for, either. The door opened again, Dad and Kristin walking in. I dropped my covers and I cried,

"Daddy!" Dada smiled and walked over.

"What were you doing?" He asked. I lifted my covers up again as Kristin got everything ready for my medicine.

"Look!" I said frantically, showing him my catheter tubing. "What is this? It goes all the way to my privates!"

"Ed, that's your catheter," Dada explained gently. "Your doctor doesn't want you to get out of bed today and tomorrow, so you have a catheter. It goes all the way up into your bladder and drains the pee out into a bag, so you don't have to get up to go." My brow furrowed and I touched my NG tube as Dada fussed with my blankets.

"What's this?" I asked.

"A tube that goes down into your stomach," Dada told me. "Dr. Tuel wants to rest your insides so you're getting food through that tube for a couple days." I shook my head.

"Dada, my leg is gone," I told him frantically. "It's gone!"

"Honey, I know," Dada said. "It's hard to believe, I know." It was such a bizarre moment in my life. A couple days ago, I had my leg. It was decaying and useless, but I had it. Then, it was gone, almost like it was never there to begin with. Since I was so confused the first day or so after surgery, I really truly couldn't process that I didn't have a leg anymore until I moved from the PICU. Until then, I was always shocked and cried when I saw it. I mean, I guess I was dealing with it, just not with words. I don't know.

"Wh-What am I g-gonna do!?" I wailed, Dada taking my hand.

"You are going to get better and learn to walk with a prosthetic," Dada reminded me gently. "Then you'll go back to your active, normal self. It'll take a little while but that is what is going to happen. It's not going to be easy but I'm going to be there every step of the way, okay?" I nodded and looked at Kristin who was smiling at me.

"Can I see the wrist with the bracelet on it?" I nodded and showed her my wrist. She asked all her normal questions she asked before giving me medicine and I answered, Kristin scanning the bracelet. She got the medicine ready and said, "Dad, I'm giving him morphine, Benadryl, and Zofran. Then I'm going to look him over, listen to his lungs and tummy, and change his dressing. You'll both learn how to change the dressing when he moves to the general peds floor." I saw Dad nod.

"Okay," he replied. "Can you verbally walk me through how to wrap it once you get the dressing changed?"

"Of course I can," Kristin told him.

"Wrap it?" I asked.

"We need your stump to be a certain shape otherwise you can't use a prosthetic," Kristin explained. "We wrap it in what looks like an ace bandage. Once it's shaped, you can use an elastic sock on it." Elastic sock? Shaped? I didn't understand what any of that meant. I had heard Dr. Tuel mention those things before but never really understood them.

"What about bones?" I asked.

"You only have one bone in your residual leg," Kristin told me. "It's just your femur and we don't need to shape that. We shape the stump into a round, mostly smooth shape so it fits into a prosthesis. We won't do anything with the bone. Does that make sense?" I shook my head.

"No," I said honestly.

"That's okay," Kristin said. "I think it'll make more sense when I do your dressing change and you actually see what your stump looks like." I just stared at her and she gave me my medicine. Then she made sure I was breathing okay, that my heart sounded good, and some other stuff that I don't remember. I was sort of dreading the dressing change. I never had the guts to look at my leg before and I didn't think I could look at it then, a day following surgery. But I wanted to understand wrapping the stump better, so I decided I would look no matter what. Kristin gently removed the soaked dressings and I kept my eyes on my stump. What I saw was honestly one of the most disgusting things ever. It was bruised, a little swollen, and the incision was crusted with blood. It looked awful. I looked over at Kristin and choked out,

"My leg."

"It actually looks really good," Kristin told me. "The swelling has gone way down since yesterday and I heard PT might pop in for some early fittings today."

"Will PT also be going over how to use crutches?" Dada asked. Kristin shook her head.

"Not right now," she answered. "He's too weak. When he's on the general peds floor they will. They're just focusing on early prosthesis fitting and teaching you exercises to be done in bed before he can get up to keep him strong." Dad nodded and Kristin changed my dressing. She walked Dada through the process of wrapping my stump which is sort of like wrapping a sprained ankle. She did it really slow and Dada watched her. I kinda watched, too, but I was exhausted. I hadn't exactly slept well since my surgery and I still had sepsis, so I got fatigued pretty quickly. Once my stump was wrapped, Kristin left and Dada kissed my forehead.

"Are you sleepy?" He asked me. I nodded.

"Yeah," I groaned.

"Want me to run and get Al?" Dada asked. I nodded again.

"Yeah, bring him here," I yawned. Dada nodded.

"Okay, I will," he told me. "Take a nap. We'll be here when you wake up." I nodded and Dada kissed me again. He left and I pulled my covers back. I stared at my stump and touched my thigh. I patted what was left of my left leg before reaching where my knee used to be. My lip trembled and I shook my head. I couldn't believe it. My leg was actually gone. But it all felt tingly, like my left leg had just fallen asleep. I didn't know why I still felt like my leg was there or why sometimes a part of my body that was gone still hurt. Physical therapy would teach me it's phantom limb, meaning your brain hasn't processed what happened and your limb is still part of your "body map" in your brain. It's trying to send signals to something that isn't there anymore, tricking you into feeling it. It's a weird feeling and I still get it sometimes, mostly in the winter. When my stump aches, sometimes I feel tingly below where my knee used to be. I was tired but was too upset to sleep. I just sat there, crying until I did manage to fall asleep sitting up.

The next time I woke up, I was scared. I had a nightmare and was having trouble breathing. The alarms were beeping loudly and that only made me more scared. I heard someone moving and tensed up. My heart was beating frantically, and I couldn't breathe. I had no idea where I was, what was happening, or who was with me. That person got closer, slowly getting up into the bed with me. Without looking to see who it was, I pushed them as hard as I could being so sick. They were taken off guard and fell off, crashing into the bedside table. I opened my eyes and looked down, Al looking up at me from the floor. His lip was busted open, his eyes wide and full of tears. I shook my head, unable to put the pieces together.

"Wh-What?" I asked hoarsely. "What's going on? What happened?" Al sniffled and sat on his knees.

"You pushed me," Al said, clearly hurt.

"I did?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. "You got on my bed before?" Al nodded.

"You were scared," Al told me. "You were crying, and I wanted to help." My throat got tight.

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you. I had a bad dream. I didn't know it was you." Al nodded and stood up.

"It's okay," Al said quietly. He crawled back up into bed with me. I was shivering. I was having trouble breathing and my stomach hurt. My stump was aching, and my head felt like it was about to explode. I moaned, Al hugging me tight.

"You're safe," he whispered, "I'm here with you. You're safe." I weakly hugged him back, unable to get warm.

"I-I'm so c-cold," I whimpered. I was wheezing. What was wrong with me? I didn't realize that this is the sepsis making me miserable. I was almost over the hump of the disease, but I was scared.

"Daddy brought you a warmer blanket," Al told me, sitting up. "I'll get it." Al got out of bed and hurried to my bag Dada had brought. He pulled out a fuzzy blanket from home and gently laid it on top of me. I grimaced and Al anxiously asked,

"What's the matter?"

"My leg hurts," I moaned. "It hurts real bad. I don't feel so good." Al squirmed and picked up the call light. He hit the button and said,

"I called your nurse."

"Where's Dada?" I asked miserably.

"Nana's," Al said softly. "Him and V-Vanessa are havin' another big fight. I got scared, so Nana brought me here. She left to get coffee an' a juice for me."

"Wh-What are they... fighting about?" I asked weakly.

"Um, _her_ job, I think," Al answered nervously, looking behind his shoulder in case Vanessa walked in. " _She_ wants me an' Dada an' _her_ to go home now. Daddy said no. He says he's off work an' doesn't hafta go home. _She_ says we gotta an' if he wants to stay then I gotta go home with _her_. Dada said no to that, too. I'm glad 'cause I don't wanna be alone with _her_. I'm scared of what _she'd_ do to me. Then Dada got real mad an' told _her_ it was _her_ fault we're here an' you got so sick and lost your leg." My brow furrowed.

"Lost my leg?" I echoed. Al nodded.

"Uh-huh," Al said slowly. "Don't you remember, Brother? You had surgery an' Dr. Tuel took lots of your leg off. The part that got really hurt an' sick." I blinked, remembering.

"Oh," I said, my lip trembling. "Yeah, I remember. I still feel it. It doesn't feel gone all the time. It hurts and it's tingly." Al frowned.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, clearly upset. I shrugged weakly.

"Dunno," I panted, exhausted. "Is Dada gonna be back?" Al nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Dinner time. Brother, is Daddy gonna get a divorce?"

"I don't know," I wheezed, my chest feeling tight. I was panicking and didn't realize it. "I sorta hope so." The door opened, Kristin coming in.

"Ed, I saw you put on your call light," she said. "What's going on?"

"Brother's leg hurts," Al said frantically. "An' he's cold an' doesn't feel good an' I think he can't breathe very good! I put the light on 'cause I got scared!"

"Okay," Kristin said calmly. "I'll take care of him." Al nodded, twisting his shirt together anxiously.

"'Kay," he said, his voice shaking.

"Hey, Edward," Kristin greeted gently. "I see you're having trouble breathing. Let's sit up and you can tell me what's going on." Kristin sat my bed up and I was gasping for air.

"My chest's tight!" I cried desperately. Kristin nodded and took my hand.

"Okay, focus on me," Kristin instructed softly. "I think you're panicking a little. Focus on my voice and take some deep breaths." I nodded, watching her chest rise and fall. I calmed down, the tightness in my chest disappearing. The monitor quit beeping and I could breathe again. I sighed and Kristin squeezed my hand.

"Good job," Kristin praised. "Are you in pain?" I nodded.

"My head an' my leg hurt," I told her. "It's tingly where my leg used to be."

"That's normal," she assured me. "I'm sure it feels strange. Your brain is trying to understand what happened. How's your tummy feel?"

"Bad," I moaned. "I don't feel so good."

"Okay, I'll bring you some medicine then I'll empty your drain bag," Kristin told me. I nodded and she left, Nana Elric walking in.

"Al, here's your juice," she announced. Al took it and Nana said, "Don't spill, sweet pea." Al nodded and took a sip, Nana walking over to me. She leaned over, kissed my forehead, and said, "Hey, sleepy head. Your daddy told me you haven't been feeling well since surgery." I nodded.

"Nana, when's Dada coming back?" I groaned.

"I'm not sure, honey," Nana said gently. "He and that woman are getting into it at my house." I nodded miserably, Nana fussing with my blankets and adjusting Toothless.

"I know," I whimpered.

" _Oh, Ed_ ," Nana sighed. "Your mother would be heartbroken if she knew what was going on. You know, Trish and Victor hardly ever bickered. Those two just got along so well."

"They never fought?" I croaked.

"Well, I wouldn't say _never_ ," Nana said, "but they were never insulting toward one another or mean spirited. Vanessa just has a mean spirit about _her_ , and it turns Victor into this bitter, distant person. That's not the man my Trisha fell for and it's not the man who gave me my two beautiful grandsons."

"Are they gonna split up?" I asked, Al inching closer.

"I'm not sure, sweetie," Nana said quietly. "I'm not sure." She squeezed my hand and I groaned. "You poor thing. How do you feel about your leg?"

"I... I don't know," I admitted. "It doesn't feel gone but I know it is. I wish it wasn't gone, Nana."

"I know," she comforted, Kristin walking back in.

"I have your medicine, sweet boy," Kristin told me, Al watching her carefully.

"Hey," Al said, "Can me and Brother go to the playroom? I wanna cheer him up."

"You are so thoughtful and sweet," Kristin said cheerfully, "But Ed's too sick to go, I'm sorry. His white blood cells are still too low. When he's out of the PICU, he'll be able to go. I can take you to the playroom and you can pick out some toys for him if you want." Al nodded eagerly.

"Yeah!" He said, excited.

"Ally, calm down before juice goes everywhere," Nana chuckled. Kristin took my hand and asked,

"Name and birthday?"

"Edward Elric," I answered, exhausted. "February 3, 2000."

"Why do you ask that every time?" Al asked.

"Just to make sure everything matches in the computer and we don't accidentally give the wrong medicine to the wrong person," Kristin explained, pushing my morphine.

"Oh," Al said. "Does that happen a lot?"

"Depends on how you define a lot," she replied. "Medication errors are common, so we take lots of steps to ensure we do it correctly every time."

"That's good 'cause I don't want the wrong medicine to hurt Ed," Al told her. "He's my big brother best friend."

"Big brother best friend?" Kristin enthused, Al nodding.

"Yeah-huh!" Al chirped. "He's my big brother, but he's also my best friend in the whole world."

"Al, you sweetie," Nana mused fondly. "Come here, dear. Sit on Nana's lap and cuddle. I need Alphie snuggles." Al nodded and sat on Nana's lap near my bed. Kristin finished pushing all my medicine and said,

"Al, want to walk with me to the playroom and pick some games and toys out for Ed?" Al nodded and slid off Nana's lap.

"Be right back," he told me, kissing my cheek. I nodded and watched him leave. He was holding Kristin's hand and she was getting him to talk way more than he usually did. During the abuse, if Vanessa wasn't around, Al would really start to come out of his shell if he felt safe around the people who were there. That changed, though, when Vanessa convinced him that everyone hated him, wished he was dead, and said mean things about him behind his back. Once that happened, no one, not even me, could get Al to be himself. That had already started to happen, but it got worse as he got older. I think Vanessa realized to really break him, _she_ had to constantly tell him that he was worthless and never should have been alive. Hearing that all the time kills you on the inside. Trust me.

"Ed," Nana addressed. I looked over and she smiled at me. "I just wanted to tell you that your father and I are so proud of you and so impressed with your bravery. Your mother would be, too." I blinked and shrugged, looking away.

"I don't know," I mumbled.

"Edward, you are doing so well," she insisted. "I can't imagine how hard this has been but you're coping pretty well with it."

"Kristin taught me some stuff to do when I'm sad," I explained.

"What kind of stuff?" Nana asked, sipping her coffee.

"When it's all too much, I can count to ten," I said. "Or I can take deep breathes with a hand on my tummy. I don't know why that helps, but it does. She also said that if I felt sad about my leg, I should make two lists. One can be a list of why I'm sad and the stuff I'll miss an' the other can be about stuff I like about me an' stuff I'll be able to do when I get a fake leg."

"Have you done that?" Nana asked. I shook my head. "I have a notepad. We can work on them if you want. I know you're upset Victor and that woman are fighting again." I nodded.

"Okay," I agreed, shifting up in bed. Nana pulled out a little legal note pad and put it on my bedside table.

"Why don't we start with the sad one?" Nana suggested. I nodded and started writing:

 _1\. I'm sad 'cause I lost my leg_

 _2\. I'm sad that Dada and my stepmom fight all the time_

 _3\. I miss home and school and my friends_

 _4\. I'm scared I'll be held back_

 _5\. I'm scared I'll be bad at the fake leg_

 _6\. I'm scared of being tied down_

 _7\. I'm scared of coding_

 _8\. I'm sad 'cause kids die_

 _9\. I'm lonely_

 _10\. I'm scared of never walking again_

 _11\. I'm sad about how my life changed_

That was all I could think of and I read it out loud to Nana. She held my hand and said,

"It's okay to feel like that, sweetheart. I'm sure your overwhelmed and scared. You have so many people who love you and we're going to help you through this. Why don't you do the happy list now?" I nodded, wiped my face and sniffled. I got a new piece of paper and wrote;

 _1\. I am a good big brother for Al_

 _2\. I love my brother_

 _3\. I love my dad_

 _4\. I like school and I'm sorta good at it_

 _5\. I'm excited to walk again_

I stopped writing. I realized that there wasn't much else I liked about myself or that I was excited about. As much as I hated the hospital, I wasn't being hit. I didn't want to go home because I was scared Dada would leave and Vanessa would have a field day with _her_ now amputee stepson. On top of that, I pretty much hated myself. Honestly, I had lost my sense of self over the years. When I was little, I could tell everyone traits I knew I had and that I liked about me. I told people I was good at telling stories and that I was funny and that I was talkative, loud, excitable, wild, energetic, smart, brave... But by the time I was ten, I had lost that. I didn't tell stories. I wasn't funny or talkative or excitable or wild. I lost it. We both did. I stared at it, big tears welling up in my eyes. I sniffled and hid my face in my hands, sobbing loudly.

"What's the matter?" Nana asked worriedly. I shook my head and just kept sobbing. She looked at the paper and sighed. "I know this is a struggle for you, sweetie. You don't have to write anymore. It's okay. I'll take this for a little while." I nodded and she took the legal pad away from me. Nana patted my back, trying to calm me down. She did, Kristin and Al returning. Al held up a box of _Settlers of Catan_ , a big smile on his face.

"Look what I found!" He said happily.

"Awesome," I said weakly.

"When we found it, that was the only thing he wanted to bring back for you," Kristin explained. "I thought that game was more for teenagers, but Al told me you two play all the time with your dad." I nodded.

"We do," I confirmed. "Thanks, Al."

"Good choice, sweetie pie," Nana praised. "I think lots of toys would have just overwhelmed Brother. He's got a lot of feelings inside." Al nodded.

"I know," he replied. "Can we play now? Or does Ed need medicine or something?" Kristin grinned at him, obviously a little impressed with Al's willingness to wait for anything she needed to do. She shook her head.

"Nope, I've got nothing like that to do with him right now," she said. "Need help setting it up?" Al shook his head.

"Nuh-uh," Al told her, rearranging my bedside table, "I can do it. Dada taught me."

"Okay," Kristin replied. "I need to empty his drain bag and then I'll get out of your way." Al paused and followed behind Kristin like a baby chick.

"Drain bag?" He asked curiously.

"For pee," Kristin explained. "Your brother has a catheter. Do you know what that means?" Al nodded.

"Uh, yeah, I kinda had one last year," Al told her. "But it was different. It didn't stay in. They had to get the pee out of me fast." Al looked me over and asked, "Does Ed have one 'cause of surgery or 'cause of having accidents? 'Cause he doesn't mean to have any, honest. I don't either."

"It's because he had surgery, not because he has had a couple accidents," Kristin clarified. "Everyone has accidents, right?" Al nodded, my face pink.

"Yeah, 'specially me," Al admitted softly. "I don't know why. I just can't hold it." Kristin put gloves on and Al asked, "Can I help?" Kristin shook her head, a smile on her face.

"Not with this," she told him.

"Can I help with Brother's bandage?" Al asked, Kristin chuckling.

"Alphie," Nana called softly. He turned around and she smiled at him. "Let Kristin do her job, okay? Set the game up for you and Ed." Al nodded and turned his attention back on the game. He got it set up and Nana asked,

"How is his output?"

"Pretty good," Kristin replied. "We're keeping him feed and hydrated artificially, but I have a feeling either Dr. Tuel or the attending will let him graduate to a clear liquid diet in a day or two."

"I'll let his father know," Nana said. "That's excellent news."

"Ed," Kristin addressed as Al set the game up. I looked over tiredly and she smiled at me, "Your little brother really cares about you. You and I should think of ways he can help out. What do you think?" I nodded.

"I like that," I replied. "Al's a really good helper."

"I can tell," Kristin chuckled. "Can I do anything else for you?" I shook my head and Kristin patted my hand. "Okay, then I'll check on you later." I waved and she left, Al watching her go.

"She's nice," Al commented, crawling up into bed with me. I nodded.

"Boys, I'm going to go call your father," Nana said. "Will you be okay for a few minutes?" We both nodded and she left. Al and I played the game together, both of us unable to get our minds off of Dad and Vanessa's most recent fight.

Vanessa went home the day after that fight they had. _She_ showed up the Saturday after that, but I wasn't in the hospital long enough after that for _her_ to visit and make fun of me again. Anyway, the day after Dada's fight with Vanessa, I got my NG tube taken out and out on a clear liquid diet which basically means I was eating Jell-O and clear soup broths. I felt sick every time I ate, so the attending was considering putting the tube back in. Dr. Tuel disagreed, saying I needed to be struggling longer than a couple hours. That evening, they took the catheter out. When they did that, people from physical therapy came to teach me to use this thing called a slide board. It's this wooden or plastic board that part of goes under your butt and the other part sort of touches where you're transferring to. In my case, it was the commode. The nurse was supposed to help me use the board to slide from bed to the commode and back again. Dada couldn't and I wasn't allowed to try by myself. Too bad I forgot all the time, especially at night. I was still getting delirious, so I would try and get up on my own. I got put on a bed alarm the last couple days in the PICU and the first couple on the general unit but the first time I tried, I wasn't on one and I actually wasn't delirious.

I remember it really well. It was nine or ten o'clock at night and I had been asleep for a couple hours. It was the same day they took my catheter out and I had gone to the bathroom once around dinner since then. I woke up and was really groggy. Dada was planning on coming back up after Al was in bed but I didn't see him. I shifted, realizing how badly I needed to pee. I almost reached for the slide board but remembered the rules about it. I didn't want to get in trouble, so I searched for my call light. I pressed it and waited. And waited. And waited. My nurses were always really good about getting to me and so were my techs. I didn't understand what was taking them so long. After around thirty minutes of waiting, I knew that if they took much longer, I'd wet my pants. I glanced over at the slide board desperately and made an impulse decision to do it by myself, just that once. I could remember how it was supposed to go under me and I lined it up pretty well. I took a deep breath because I was scared of falling and getting in trouble. I shut my eyes and scooted down the board. At first, I was doing it well. My right leg couldn't quite reach the floor, but I was using my stomach muscles and hips to slowly move down the board. I got about halfway when the commode shook a little. I froze, realizing that me moving was rocking the commode. I didn't know what to do. I started to sweat, my chest pounding as I contemplated my options. I thought I could reach the floor with my right foot and thought that would steady me. I reached down, my toes touching the floor, and the board slipped. I fell forward, my face hitting the hard tile floor. I cried out, my stump banging up against the floor. I could feel it bleeding so I rolled over. I was finally allowed to wear my own pajamas and watched in horror as blood soaked through the left leg.

"Oh, no," I whimpered. I saw the commode got knocked over and the board landed near it. I shook my head. I tried to pull myself back up using the bed but couldn't. Surgery and the sepsis had made me so weak, I couldn't do it. The call light had been on for a long time and since no one had shown up in that time, I was terrified no one ever would. My throat was sore from being intubated and I wasn't able to talk very loud. I tried to call for help, but all that came out was a hoarse, croak-y, quiet sound. I cried a little, my stump bleeding and squirming because I still needed to pee. It wasn't long before I peed all over myself, crying as loud as I could. After a few minutes, the door creaked open. The lights were mostly off (only my bed light was on) and I couldn't see who was there.

"Ed, it's okay, I'm back." It was Dada!

"Daddy, help me!" I cried hoarsely, panicked. He turned the room lights on and gasped.

"Oh, God, what happened?" He asked, rushing over. I shook my head.

"I'm sorry," I cried. "I put my call light on, but no one came. I didn't want to wet the bed, so I tried to do the board by myself. I got halfway an' it tipped over. I'm sorry!"

"Sweetie, your call light isn't on," he told me urgently. My brow furrowed.

"I pressed it," I insisted. "I'm not lying." Dada stood up and showed me the call light remote.

"Which button did you press?" Dad asked me. I frowned, squinting at the remote.

"Th-That one," I said, pointing to a big green button.

"Oh, Ed," Dada sighed, "You pressed the button for the bed light, sweetie, by accident. That's why no one came." I blinked, tears running down my face and my chin quivered. I felt so stupid. I knew which buttons did what. I couldn't believe I pressed the wrong one. I hid my face behind my hands, sobbing painfully.

"I-I'm sorry!" I wailed. "I-I th-thought I h-hit th-the r-r-right one!"

"Baby, I know," Dad comforted. "I know. Listen to me, little man. I can't get you up off the floor. I'm going to go get Kelsey. She's your nurse tonight."

"Pick me up!" I sobbed.

"Ed, I can't," Dada said gently. "Kelsey is supposed to help when you fall. I'll be right back." I kept sobbing and Dad left. It didn't take him long at all to return with Kelsey. I peeked through my fingers and saw her squatting down in front of me, a smile on her face.

"Hey, buddy," she greeted softly. "It's okay. I'm here now. Tell me what happened. You're not in trouble but I need to know how you fell."

"I'm sorry," I cried miserably. "I had to g-go potty a-an' thought I hit the right button. No one came 'cause I'm stupid an' hit the b-button for the light! I tr-tried to w-wait but couldn't, s-so I tried the b-board an' I fell down!"

"Edward, you aren't stupid," Kelsey assured me gently. "You have been through a lot that last couple of days. You lost your leg, you've been very sick, you're away from home, and you had a tough surgery. It's okay to hit the wrong button."

"I d-didn't w-wanna get in tr-trouble f-for wetting th-the bed!" I wailed hoarsely.

"Buddy, nobody would get you in trouble," she told me. "I would much rather you wet your bed waiting for someone to help you than have you try to get up by yourself and fall down. I know wetting the bed isn't fun and it's embarrassing, but I want you to stay safe. Does that make sense?" I nodded weakly.

"I'm r-really sorry," I cried pathetically.

"It's okay," she comforted. "It's okay. I'll get you up. Let's sit on the commode and see if you can go potty a little. I'll get you changed and we'll check on your stump. Does it hurt?" I nodded.

"Worse than usual," I replied weakly. "It's bleeding. Did I mess it up?"

"Honey, accidents happen," she soothed. "You didn't mess anything up, but I need to see if the stitches are still in place." Kelsey picked me up and somehow managed to pull my drenched pants off. She sat me on the commode and had me put my leg up on the bed. She put a disposable pad under my stump and I watched anxiously as she removed the dressing.

"Okay, I need to clean it," she informed me. "I know you're sore and it hurts, but I have to wipe away the blood. Hold Dad's hand and be brave, okay?" I sniffled and nodded, Dada taking one of my hands. Kelsey began to gently wipe blood away and I cried. It hurt so fucking bad. I squirmed, Dada gently reminding me to hold still. I did my best, Kelsey cleaning my incision as gently as she could.

"Good news," she said after a few minutes. I was panting, sweating and crying because cleaning the stump hurt worse than anything I had ever experienced. "Every stitch is in place."

"Thank God," Dad sighed in relief. Kelsey began to bandage it again and she asked,

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" I shook my head.

"I don't think so," I said softly, still crying. "I'm sorry. I can be good, honest."

"Ed, sweet boy, it's all right," Kelsey soothed, tapping all the dressings in place. "No one is mad at you." Well, no one besides me. I was embarrassed, humiliated, and upset with myself. All I could hear was Vanessa in my head, yelling at me. Telling me how stupid I was. How bad I was. His disgusting I was. How it was all my fault. I was expecting someone to do the same, but they never did.

"We're all just happy you're okay, little man," Dad added warmly. I hung my head and Kelsey said,

"Let me help with your pajama bottoms."

"I wanna help," I said tiredly. "I can do it."

"Here," Kelsey said, handing me a pair of underwear. "Put those on for me. Be careful with your stump." I nodded and did the left leg first. I was cautious, doing my best to avoid the bandages. Kelsey helped me with the pants because I struggled with the stump and she picked me up. She pulled everything up for me and put me in bed.

"Thank you," I said sleepily, rubbing my eyes.

"You're very welcome," she said fondly. She handed me the remote and told me, "People hit the wrong buttons all the time, Ed. It's not a big deal. Just remember we would all rather you have an accident in bed than fall trying to potty."

"Even number two?" I asked.

"That's right," she replied. "You didn't get hurt this time but if you try to use the slide board alone again, you could get hurt. We can always clean you up but if something were to happen to your stump, it might hurt your ability to use a prosthetic or you might have to stay here even longer. Does that make sense?" I nodded, tears in my eyes.

"Yeah," I croaked.

"Just remember the call light button is red," she said gently. "It has a nurse hat on it. If you need me, press that one. Can I do anything else for you?" I shook my head, grabbing Lamby and getting comfortable.

"Thank you so much," Dad said gratefully. Kelsey nodded.

"No problem," she replied. "Get some sleep guys." I nodded and she left, Dada tucking me in.

"Dad?" I asked groggily.

"What?" He replied.

"Is what she said true?" I asked nervously.

"About what?"

"Well, um, two things," I told him anxiously. "She said I wasn't in trouble. Is that true? I didn't listen an' I broke the rules. Also, uh, she said she'd rather me have an accident than get up by myself. That's also breaking rules."

"Ed," Dada sighed, sitting on the edge of my bed. "Honey, you're not in trouble. You made a mistake and that's okay. We're so happy you're not hurt. We don't want you to get up by yourself. You're not strong enough and don't know how to use crutches yet. It's safer for you to just stay in bed and wait for help. If they can't help you, I'd much rather you have an accident in bed than fall and get hurt. I want you to get better so we can go home. Don't worry about breaking rules, sweetie. Just worry about getting better, okay?" I wasn't sure but I nodded. How could I not worry about breaking rules? My life revolved around rules and what happened when I broke them. Not worrying about rules was just something I was capable of doing.

"Okay," I sighed. Dada leaned over and kissed my forehead.

"I love you so much," he told me softly. "Sweet dreams."

"Love you, too," I replied. Dada moved to the pullout couch and I fell asleep to his constant and comforting breathing.

After the night I fell, I was put on a bed alarm at night so I wouldn't fall again. My brain was slowly starting to get less foggy and I was feeling more and more like myself. That meant the reality of being a ten-year-old amputee had finally set in. I was crying a lot. I couldn't even talk when I would cry. I would just cry. Dad or Al or whatever nurse I had would do their best to comfort me, but they couldn't. I just cried. After two more days, I "graduated" from the PICU. They made a big deal out of it to make me feel special. I won't lie – it worked. They played the graduation march as the transport team wheeled me out of the PICU to the general pediatric floor and Kristin, my primary nurse for a little over a week, handed me an envelope. I figured it was empty since I didn't really graduate but Dada told me to open it when we got to my new room. I did and inside was a card. It was a get-well card from all the nurses. They all wrote little personal messages for me and I bawled like a baby. I couldn't comprehend the fact that a bunch of strangers cared about me. Like, really actually cared. For four years, I had been told that no one liked me, not even Dada. I was told I was a bad kid, a disgusting a kid, a kid who never should have been born. I was overlooked by my teachers and bullied by everyone in my class except my three friends who stuck by me despite how I felt about myself. Having all these nurses tell me I was a wonderful patient, that they'd miss me, and want me to get better was mind boggling. I didn't know what else to do but cry.

I didn't like the general unit as much as the PICU. I had a different nurse basically every day, even if the nurse I had the day or night before was there. It's how staffing works on non-ICU floors but I hated it. The nurses always struggled to learn my name and if it was a nurse who didn't normally work in pediatrics, they were sometimes mean to me or just had very little patience 'cause they are used to working with grown-ups. I had a particularly nasty night shift nurse the second day I was there. It was Dad's night to stay at Nana's with Al, so I had to sleep there alone. She was an older lady and she got pulled from her cardiac something or rather floor to pediatrics because a nurse who usually worked there was sick. She was pissed to be on the floor, and she didn't hide that from me. I remember when my day nurse who was super nice came in to do their bedside report about the day. They came in and the day nurse said hi to me but my night nurse didn't even look at me.

"Okay, Ed, I'm going home," she told me. "This is Barbara and she'll take care of you over night." I nodded and Barbara still hadn't looked at me. "Okay, this is Edward Elric, he's ten and is a PICU grad. He was initially admitted for a traumatic left leg injury that led to sepsis and an osteomyelitis of the left knee and shin bone. They amputated five days ago and he moved to this floor yesterday. PT is working with him and hope to teach him to use crutches independently tomorrow. Right now, he can transfer to and from a bedside commode with a slide board. He's quite good at it, so just remind him not to try and put his right foot on the floor. His dressing needs to be changed once a shift and whenever its soiled. I changed it this morning around eight, so you might want to change it before his bedtime. He's on a full liquid diet and the doctor would like to introduce solids tomorrow. He weighs 25. 2 kg, had morphine, Benadryl, and Zofran about an hour ago. He tolerates his dressing changes really well if you talk to him to get his mind off it. He's a sweet kid and very bright. He lives with his dad, stepmom, and little brother in Resembool. Dad, his brother, and his grandmother visit frequently. Ed does have nightmares and does wet the bed occasionally. They said he did fine last night, but his dad was here so they think that's probably why. Any questions for me?"

"Does he have a bedtime?" Barbara asked.

"Around nine," the day nurse replied. Barbara nodded.

"That's all I need," she said shortly. She left and I got the feeling she didn't like me. I didn't know she didn't usually work with kids and was mad she got pulled.

"I don't think she likes me," I said softly. "Can you stay?" My nurse smiled but shook her head.

"Sorry, buddy," she apologized. "But I need to go home. I work tomorrow so if you want, I can be your nurse again." I nodded.

"Okay," I said nervously.

"She likes you," my nurse comforted, taking my hand. "She does. You're a likable kiddo. Have a good night, okay?" I nodded again and she left. I can remember that my tech came in around eight to do my bed bath. She asked if I had to go to the bathroom and I didn't when she asked. When I was cleaned up, my tech left. I read for a while and right before bedtime, I needed to pee. I made sure I hit the right button and pressed it. I waited for ten minutes before Barbara came in.

"What is it?" She asked harshly. I flinched.

"I... I, uh, need to potty," I told her. She rolled her eyes.

"And you didn't do that while Erica gave you a bath because?" She questioned, crossing her arms. I squirmed, blush on my cheeks.

"I didn't have to," I replied, embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"Erica's busy so I guess I'm stuck helping you _potty_ ," Barbara groaned, grabbing the slide board. "I have better things to do, you know." I hung my head.

"I know," I whimpered. "Sorry." Barbara got the board under me and started to move me. When I got to the commode Barbara stopped and said,

"You're not wearing a gown." My brow furrowed and I shook my head. "Why?"

"I don't like them," I told her. "My jammies from home are softer and warmer."

"I don't care about your jammies," she said harshly. "What I care about is how I'm going to get your pants down."

"I can stand for a minute on my right leg if you hold me up," I explained softly. I was really scared of Barbara already. She had been nothing but mean to me and I was worried about how the rest of the night was gonna go.

"Oh, good," Barbara said. She stood me up and we got my pants down. I sat on the commode, Barbara asking, "Hit your call button when you're done."

"I'll be done in a minute," I told her. She gave me a look.

"Aren't you having a bowel movement?" Barbara questioned. My brow furrowed.

"A what?" I asked.

"Dear Lord," Barbara sighed. "Aren't you pooping?" I shook my head.

"Nuh-uh," I answered. "I did that yesterday. I haven't gone a lot since surgery. Dada says –"

"Okay, I get it," she interrupted. "So, if you are just peeing, why didn't you ask for a urinal?"

"I can't really go in one," I explained.

"Geeze, you're a handful," she complained. "You better not wet the bed after all this work." I shrugged and she helped me pull my pants up and get back in bed. I laid awake for a while, worrying about that she said. I didn't know what would happen to me if I did wet the bed. But I was too tired to stay awake all night, so I did eventually fall asleep.

A couple hours later, I woke up suddenly from a scary dream. I was crying as I sat up and realized I was soaked. That made me cry harder. I wasn't sure what to do. Erica the tech was nice to me and I knew if I hit the call light, she might be the one to come in. I imagined that she'd comfort me and cuddle me the way the PICU techs and nurses did. On the other hand, Barbara might be the one to come in and I had no clue what she'd do to me if I wet the bed. I kept crying, shivering because I was freezing. I couldn't stay wet forever, so I finally pressed the button. A couple minutes the door opened, and dim light came on. My stomach dropped when I saw it was Barbara. I was basically sobbing, and I heard her sigh in annoyance. She clearly didn't want to deal with me because I was a "handful".

"What is going on?" She asked, disinterested.

"I-I had a scary d-dream a-an' I w-wet my b-bed!" I wailed. Barbara gave me a sour look.

"You did, did you?" Barbara questioned. I nodded and she said, "I'll be right back." I nodded, hoping she was going to get Erica. But she didn't. She came back with a hospital gown, new bedding, and, to my horror, diapers.

"I don't need those," I sniffled miserably. "I won't do it again."

"I'm not taking any chances," Barbara informed me stiffly. "This is how we deal with bedwetters upstairs. It's either diapers or catheters for people who chose to wet their beds. You even went to the commode beforehand."

"I didn't mean to," I cried. But it didn't matter. She roughly changed the bed and me, putting a diaper on me. And it wasn't even a pull-up or anything. It was one with those tabs. I was so embarrassed and humiliated. I cried the whole time as Barbara said,

"Maybe you'll think twice about peeing in your bed." I couldn't say anything to her. Hell, I couldn't even look at her.

"I wanna call my dad," I sniveled. Barbara groaned and handed me the phone.

"Fine," she said. "Stay out of trouble." She left and I dialed Dad's number. I didn't know if he'd answer a weird number but after a few seconds, he did;

"Hello?"

"Daddy," I cried pathetically. "Can you come up here?"

"Ed?" He questioned. "What's the matter? What's going on?"

"My nurse is being mean to me," I cried.

"Mean how?"

"She says mean things and got mad at me for using the commode and then got mad 'cause I wet my bed," I told him in a rush, crying. "She made me wear a diaper!"

"Good Lord, okay," he said. "Hang on, sweetie. I'll be right there."

"Okay," I whimpered. "Hurry. I'm scared."

"Did you have a bad dream, too?" Dad asked. I nodded.

"Yeah," I sniffled. "It was really scary."

"I bet, sweetheart," Dada comforted. "I'll be there very soon, okay? I love you."

"Love you, too," I sniffled. I hung up and clung to Lamby. I looked over at the picture of Mom on my bedside table and sighed.

"Mom?" I whispered. "Do you think I'm a handful? Do you think I'm bad? Do you think what happened is my fault? Do you think Dad's sick of me? Do you think Al blames me?" The picture, of course, just stared at me. I sniffled, tears running down my face as I tried desperately to imagine what Mom would say if she was here. It's depressing, but by the time I was ten I couldn't always remember how Mom talked. I'm not just talking about her voice. I mean the inflections and sentence structure and facial features. I mean the way she stood and how she moved her hands and the words she used. I was forgetting that stuff. Even when I talked to the picture it was harder and harder to remember how Mom would talk to me. I remember that I closed my eyes, trying to see Mom in my head. I pictured her and all I could think about was her nickname for me; " _Little Man_." That's all I could think about. I wasn't sure how Mom would answer my questions. I wasn't sure if she'd love me the way I was then.

"I miss you, Mama," I whimpered. "I miss you." I grabbed the picture, not realizing I accidentally hit the call light. I held the picture and cried, the door opening.

"Ed?" I looked over, Erica walking in. I wiped my face but couldn't stop crying. She walked over, turned the call light off, and sat down on my bed next to me, asking, "What's the matter, buddy? Do you need something?" I shook my head.

"I-I'm just sad," I cried.

"Want to talk about it?" She asked. I showed her the picture of my mom.

"I miss my mom," I wailed softly. "An' I can't remember the way she talked! I miss her so much!"

"She's very beautiful," Erica commented. I nodded.

"Y-Yeah," I whimpered. "She was nice an' played with me an' Al. Before she got sick, I mean."

"When did she get sick?" Erica asked.

"Well," I sniffled, wiping my face. "Mom got sick with cancer when my little brother Al was in her tummy. He came early an' they both had to be in the hospital for a long time. That's what Dada says. Al got better first, then Mom. She was fine until I was three. The cancer came back an' she died when I was five. It was scary 'cause she got really skinny an' was connected to wires an' tubes. She didn' get to see me go to school or anything. It's not fair."

"I'm sorry," Erica apologized. "Losing someone that way is so hard. Does your family have any videos of your mom you can watch?" I nodded.

"Lots," I answered.

"Do you have a favorite?" Erica asked.

"Yeah," I replied. "I like Al's third birthday the best."

"Why?" I shrugged.

"Al was a cute baby," I told her. "We went to a cool park an' Al was a really silly baby. Mom was proud of him 'cause he was getting good at the potty an' she was so happy that he was gettin' bigger. Since he was early, he was small, but Mom was happy that he was growing an' such a big boy."

"Maybe you can watch one soon," Erica suggested.

"I'll ask my dad," I said. I smiled weakly. "Thanks. You made me feel better." She smiled at me and I gave her a hug. She hugged me back and rubbed my back.

"I'm glad," she told me, pulling away. "Need anything?" I shook my head. "Want to try to potty while I'm here?" My chin quivered.

"My nurse is mad at me," I informed her miserably.

"Why?" She asked.

"She says I'm a handful," I confided. "An' she got mad when I wet the bed. It was an accident but she's mad. She put me in a diaper." The door opened and Dad asked,

"Hello?"

"Dada!" I cried. He walked over and picked me up, Erica standing.

"Ed just told me what his nurse did," Erica told Dad. "It's unacceptable. Ed, do you need to potty?" I nodded.

"No but can I try?" I asked.

"Of course," Erica replied. "When he's done, I'm going to talk to the nurse manager. She can't do that to him. She's humiliating him because she's upset that she had to clean him up. It's not right."

"I agree, thank you," Dada said gratefully. He handed me to Erica and grunted, "Here." She helped me with my pants and sat me on the commode. She took the diaper off and threw it away, helping me put on new underwear.

"Doing okay?" She asked me. I nodded.

"Yeah," I answered. "I'm sleepy."

"I know, buddy," she comforted. "Are you done?"

"Uh-huh," I answered. Erica helped me up, pulled everything up, and handed me back to Dada.

"Thank you," he replied.

"No problem," Erica answered. "I'll go talk to the manager." Erica left and Dada put me back in bed.

"Dada?" I asked sleepily.

"What, baby?" He asked.

"Can we watch stuff with Mom in it?" I yawned.

"Sure," he agreed. "Sure." He tucked me in, kisses my forehead, and said, "Get some sleep. I love you."

"I love you, too," I said, already starting to fall asleep.

I spent the rest of my time in the hospital working with physical therapy. I wasn't really sick anymore, just really worn out, so the deal was I could go home when I could use crutches. At first, they'd come into my room and do exercises with me like they did in the PICU. They measured my stump as the swelling went down and gave Dada the number for Shriner's so I could get a prosthetic. They told me my stump was being shaped extremely well and my muscles had stayed relatively strong, so I was an excellent candidate for a prosthetic. One day after being in the hospital for about two weeks, they told me I was going to the therapy room. It was finally time to learn to use crutches. They told me if a leg they had lying around fit me, I could also try it on to see how it felt. I was kind of nervous to try the crutches, but Dada and Al were allowed to come with me. The therapy room is really nice. It's open with lots of windows and kid-friendly. I definitely needed that considering how nervous I was. They wheeled me to a table, and I got on it. My physical therapist that day, a guy named Greg, warmed me up my stretching my legs and focusing on the left stump. When he was done, I sat up and he brought over the crutches. They were already adjusted to my height, so he just had to walk me through how to use them. I was scared as Greg handed me the crutches and said,

"Here's the deal; the padded part goes under your arms." I nodded and did what he asked. The crutches were at an angle, only a little bit of them touching the ground. "Now, plant your right leg firmly on the ground." I did, looking up at him.

"Like this?" I asked nervously.

"Just like that," Greg encouraged. "Okay, now we're gonna stand up. Your hands go on those handles. Grab them really tight and use your arms and right leg to push up."

"I don't know," I said anxiously. I was scared of falling.

"You can do it, bud," Greg told me. I glanced over at Dada and Al. Dad smiled at me.

"Go ahead," he encouraged. "Give it a try."

"You can do it, Brother!" Al cheered. I nodded and put on a determined face.

"I'll try," I told Greg seriously. I took a deep breath and pushed down on the handles as hard as I could. I put pressure on my right leg and felt myself starting to lift off the table. I tightened my core and got to a standing position, wobbling a little because balancing with crutches is hard and it sucks.

"Way to go, Edward!" Dada praised, Greg nodding.

"Good job," Greg told me. I was a little proud of myself. It was a lot of work, but I did it. I was standing. "How do you feel?"

"Kinda tired," I replied.

"Any pain?"

"Nuh-uh," I answered.

"Do you want to try to use them?" Greg asked. I nodded. "Dad, why don't you come stand about a foot in front of him?" Dada came over and stood in front of me. Greg came up beside me and said, "You're going to start by moving the right crutch. Then, shift as much weight as you can to the right crutch and move your right leg with the left crutch. That way, your leg and left crutch match up. I know it seems a little backward but it's the safest way to move. It'll take a while to get the motion down so if you fall, it's okay. It'll take a little while to get it. Try to get to your dad." I nodded and shakily moved the right crutch in front of me. I only moved it about an inch or two away because I was scared. I then attempted to move my right leg and left crutch together but lost my balance. I panicked and tried to stay standing but wound up falling on the mat.

"It's okay," Greg encouraged as my lip trembled. "It's okay. You can try again."

"It's too hard," I cried, shaking my head. "I can't do it."

"Yes, you can," he encouraged. "If you can walk to your dad, you can do anything. It doesn't matter how many times you fall. What matters is that you always get up." What he said reminded me of Teacher, so I nodded. I struggled to get back up and I did, focused on getting to Dada.

"Move the right one," I mumbled under my breath. "Put my weight on the right one." I did, holding my breath as I moved the left crutch. I moved my right leg a little behind the crutch and stayed stable. I did it! I took a step with the crutches! I shook my head and did it again, moving the right crutch about three inches away that time. I did exactly what I did before and wobbled a bit but managed to stay up. It was hard and tiring but after five minutes, I was about inch away from Dada. I looked up at him and he grinned at me. He bent over and kissed my hair.

"See?" He hummed fondly. "Look at you. You can do it." I wobbled a little, a small smile on my face.

"I wanna go back to the table," I announced. Dada nodded and I concentrated. I didn't know how to turn around, though, so I fell, and I fell _hard_. I started crying, Dada picking me up.

"It's okay," he comforted. "No one is perfect at something the first time they try. Are you hurt?" I shook my head.

"N-No," I whimpered.

"Ed," Greg addressed. I looked over and saw he had a beat-up prosthetic leg in his arms. "Want to try standing with one of these?" I nodded.

"Yeah," I sniffled. Dada sat me on the table and Greg slipped a special elastic sock over my stump.

"Keep in mind your leg is going to feel different than this one," Greg explained. "I just want you to get an idea of what this'll be like." I nodded and he put the leg on for me. The first thing I noticed was how heavy it was. It was pulling on my skin a little and it already hurt just second after Greg put it on.

"It's heavy," I whined.

"This one is a little heavier than what you'll probably have," Greg told me.

"It feels like it's gonna fall off," I told him. "It's weird."

"That's why we need to get you used to it now," Greg said. "Try standing up." I nodded, pausing because I almost couldn't remember how. I frowned, scrunching my face up in concentration and used my arms to push up off the table. I staggered, gasping because the mild pain in my stump I was already feeling got amplified as soon as I put weight on it. My legs shook and I started bawling, Dada worriedly asking,

"What's wrong? What's the matter?"

"It hurts!" I wailed. I fell backward on to the table, feeling pretty defeated. I felt like I was never going to be able to use a prosthetic.

"Is it supposed to hurt?" Dad asked Greg. Greg nodded.

"It can, yeah," Greg replied. "His stump is sore from surgery so putting weight on it hurts at first. It'll hurt the first few times he stands and walks, even a couple weeks from now but it won't hurt after his stump heals completely. It'll feel clunky and awkward to walk at first, too."

"I can't do it!" I cried. "It hurts too bad! I'll never learn to walk!" Dada sighed and sat next to me on the table, Greg shaking his head.

"Ed," Dad said softly, "it won't be easy. It's going to hurt and it's going to be hard. But you can do it. I know you can." I remember wiping my face on my sleeve and nodding. I really didn't think I'd be able to do it, but I wanted to show Dada I could. I wanted to show _her_ that I could do it. I knew _she_ thought there was no way I would ever walk again, and _she_ enjoyed taunting me about that. It made _her_ happy to see me so miserable, so I wanted to prove to _her_ that I _could_ walk.

"Want to try to stand again?" Greg asked. I nodded. I pushed up from the table and stood, grimacing because my stump hurt so fucking bad. But I stood. Dada praised me and I felt like I was capable for the first time in a long time.

Soon after that, I got discharged and got a leg machined at Shriner's. I saw a physical therapist at the Shriner's in Chicago for over a year. It was grueling. Honestly, it was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Physically, I mean. It took a year, but I learned to walk on my prosthetic leg that was made just for me. And yeah, my new leg was nice, but I had this ache in my chest, something I still have, for my real leg. And that hospital stay is a long, drawn out, painful footnote on one of the most traumatic moments of my entire life. But as _she_ always used to say, at least I'm alive to talk about it.


	7. Chapter 7: Dada Tells Lucy

_Even in its darkest passages, the heart is unconquerable. It is important that the body survives, but it is more meaningful that the human spirit prevails. - Dave Pelzer_

* * *

Well, it's official. Dada and Lucy are getting serious. At least, I think they are. I can sort of remember what it was like when Dad and _her_ were getting serious. Back then, _she_ was all Dada could think about. _She_ was all he could talk about. They saw each other constantly, to the point it was sorta annoying. They giggled like little kids with a crush, drinking wine on the back porch and looking at the stars. But, most of all, Dada was actually happy, something he really hadn't been since Mom died. And now, it's all sorta happening again. Lucy is all Dada talks about sometimes. Lucy this, Lucy that, and it's sorta annoying. Now it's Lucy Dada drinks wine with on the back porch. Now it's Lucy he goes out on dates with and giggles with like a love-struck twelve-year-old. They see each other all the time and recently, I've heard Lucy asking to sleep over or if Dad wants to spend the night at her place and he always turns her down. I think he _wants_ to have sleepovers, but he always says no. I know why. It's 'cause of Al and me. I know it is. Lucy has no clue what nighttime here is like. She has no clue about anything. All she knows is that Al and I have anxiety and that Mom died when we were little. I _think_ she knows that Dad's been married twice, but if she does she doesn't know why the second marriage ended or anything. I can tell that Dada's getting tired of making excuses and hiding stuff from her. It was bound to happen, but I have a feeling we're about to have "the talk" with Lucy and by "talk" I don't mean the sex talk; we're gonna sit her down and tell her we were abused.

I don't know how to feel about that. On one hand, she's been in our lives since October and is really nice. Lucy cooks for us and never bats an eye when we have anxiety attacks, or we regress or we just say something really fucking weird that a normal teenager wouldn't say. She's down to earth, she's funny, and I really like her. I wouldn't mind Dad marrying her or something but at the same time... I'm scared. What if our family secret scares her off? What if we tell her everything, and I mean _everything_ , and she leaves Dada? What if I manage to ruin the first happy relationship Dad's been in in a long time? What if our deep, dark, horrendous secret causes her to abandon us? I would feel awful if things ended between Dad and Lucy because we tell her about the abuse. But at the same time, if we don't tell her soon, she might get upset if they get engaged and Dada doesn't tell her anything until then. It's probably time to tell her. And if she freaks out, I guess that means she's not as cool as we all thought she was.

Dada told me yesterday we're having a fancy dinner with Lucy tomorrow. Al's turning fifteen soon and she's gonna be out of town on his birthday, so Dada told her we could go out the four of us. I asked if he was gonna tell Lucy about the abuse then and he said yes. He said he figured it was about time we were honest with her since they were so serious, and I didn't really say anything. I didn't tell him how scared I was of breaking them up. It didn't feel right. I don't want him to put it off because of me. I prevent him from doing enough stuff already. I told Al and he didn't have much to say about it. Al said he was scared about Lucy leaving and he didn't like the idea of telling her, but knew it was probably time. Al's been sorta quiet, but his voice is coming back. That stuff with Hannah really threw him off. I'm proud of him, though, 'cause he quit sucking his thumb during the day a couple weeks ago. We made him a chart and he stuck to it and now he only sucks it at nighttime again. I'm really proud of him. But, it's not all good for Al again. He's still peeing in his pants a lot and he just hasn't been feeling good. He's been getting sick a lot, runs fevers, and has really bad back pain. The urgency has gotten so bad that he'll say he's gotta go and he'll be completely soaked a minute later. School's almost over but it's getting bad. He's had three accidents at school the last two weeks and I think he'd rather not go out for dinner the night Dada's gonna tell Lucy because of that. But that's what we're doing so he's stuck. We both are.

Lucy's over at our house today. Since Mrs. Davis has been really encouraging Dad to get the house in order, he's been on a cleaning kick lately. He can be really bad at organizing, though, and gets overwhelmed so he doesn't always know where to start. That's why Lucy has been helping him. They're clearing out some junk in the basement and I can't help. I don't really go down there anymore. Lucy came over to help him move stuff around and clean the basement up a little. She's also gonna clean the rest of the house for us. She does that every weekend almost and it's pretty neat. Our house has been pretty messy since _she_ went to jail and it's nice to have a clean house. Al and I are outside, so we don't feel guilty about not helping inside. It's just, well, we can't spend a lot of time in the basement without freaking out. I spent a lot of time alone down there as a kid and…. Well, I think it's pretty obvious that I can't handle going down there. I'm not sure what Lucy was told, though, about why we don't go down there. I'm not even sure Dad can come up with a convincing story. Maybe he told her it's too dusty? I don't know. I try not to think about the lies we constantly tell her and everyone else who doesn't know the truth. We're on the trampoline, Al trying to show me a trick he taught himself. He claims he can totally jump high enough to do, like, three flips in a row but he can't get it to work. Says the trampoline is too stiff from winter still. I laugh at him, Al concentrating really hard to do it.

"Seriously, I did this two days ago," he claims. He bears down and jumps, flipping once and falling on his face on the trampoline.

"Did you break your glasses?" I laugh. Al gets up and shakes his head, grinning at me. Al's got braces now. The glasses and the braces almost make him look like a teenager. Almost. He's still so small with a baby face that he still looks like he's eleven.

"Nah, they're fine," Al replies, jumping again. I jump, too, my prosthetic failing when I land. I fall, nearly rolling off the trampoline.

"Shit," I mutter, Al hurrying over to me.

"Are you okay, Brother?" He asks. I nod.

"Yeah," I tell him. "It's almost time for a new one." Al nods.

"You have gotten a little taller," Al agrees. "I noticed you limp sometimes." I shrug.

"Time to make an appointment at Shriner's I guess," I say. Al nods, his eyes getting wide. He whimpers and struggles off the trampoline as I say, "What's the matter?"

"I gotta go!" He calls, sprinting inside. I shake my head and adjust my leg. I have to get a new leg machined every couple years when it stops fitting right or I outgrow it. It sucks 'cause the first couple days I have it, I fall a lot and have trouble getting around because I'm not used to the new leg. It sounds strange, but it's true. Every time I get a new leg it really is like I have to get used to it all over again.

I slide off the trampoline, being more careful since my leg is too small now. I gotta make sure Al's okay. He's seeing a nephrologist in a few days. Dr. Marcoh suggested it since Al was born with issues down there and since he's been so sick with that lower back pain. It could be kidney stones again, but Al never runs fevers for very long when he has kidney stones. He might run a brief fever but it goes away really fast. He's been really sick lately and Dr. Marcoh feels like to cover all our bases that Al should see a kidney expert. Dada actually tried some medicine to help with the accidents and bedwetting, but it didn't really help. I mean, maybe Al has had a dry night, but it didn't help the way we needed it to. I'm worried something is wrong with him. His bedwetting is so bad that a few weeks ago, he started wearing those Goodnights things because he literally wasn't sleeping at night. He's soaking the bed twice a night most nights, so he hasn't been sleeping. The Goodnights help 'cause all he's gotta do is throw the wet one a way, put a clean one on, and go back to bed. But sometimes, he soaks through it, so it's not fail-proof. The nephrologist was booked through until next week, so if something is physically wrong, we won't know until then. I don't need to be anxious about this whole telling Lucy thing tomorrow when I'm already so freaking anxious about Al. I walk into the house and no one's around. I slip on something, nearly falling and hurry away from it. I turn around and see a puddle on the hard wood.

"Oh, no," I sigh. Not again. I shake my head and call, "Al! Alphonse! Where are you?" He doesn't answer so I try to trace his steps. I decide he's probably hiding upstairs so I take them two at a time. I hear someone crying and follow it, pausing when I hear something else.

"What's the matter, Al? Why are you so upset?" I see Lucy at our door. I jog over, Lucy turning to look at me.

"Hey," I say stupidly.

"Hi, Ed," she greets. "Do you know what's wrong with Al?" I blush a little and nod, shifting anxiously.

"Uh, yeah," I squeak. "Look, Lucy, um, he was born early, you know? And, um, he had problems with his bladder when he was born and some shi – stuff happened with a girl at school, and he's been sick a lot lately and... well, he's... what it is, is he's been wetting his pants." _Wow._ Word vomit. Lucy makes a face and turns toward the door.

"Oh," she says. I get even more anxious.

"It's not what you think!" I say frantically. "It just hits him out of nowhere and he can't hold it for long, that's all! And he's gotta pee, like, all the time and that doesn't help! He's not stupid or a baby or doing it on purpose, I swear!"

"I don't think that," she tells me, her hand on the door handle. "Al, I'm going to come in." I gulp and she walks in, Al sobbing on his bed. Lucy walks over to him and asks, "Can I sit next to you?" I watch nervously as Al nods and Lucy sits down. Al is still sobbing, Lucy rubbing his back.

"Are you okay?" She asks him. Al shakes his head.

"N-No," he wails. "I-I'm so s-sorry! I'm n-not trying to be bad! I'm just so disgusting!"

"Woah," Lucy says, a little taken back. "Al, it's okay. You're not disgusting."

"I'm almost fifteen and I have accidents all the time," Al cries miserably. "It's gross and bad! _She_ was right about me!" Uh-oh. Not good. _Not good!_

"Who?" Lucy asks. "Who are you talking about?"

"M-My stepmom!" Al cries. " _She_ always made fun of me a-an' would spray me with the hose! You're not gonna, are you?" Lucy stiffens up.

"Spray you with the hose?" Lucy questions, baffled. "Alphonse, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing!" I blurt. "It's nothing! Forget he said it!" Lucy looks at me, her brow furrowed.

"What's going on?" She asks me worriedly. I swallow nervously. I might throw up. That might be a good distraction, honestly.

"Nothing," I repeat anxiously. "Nothing. Everything's fine." Lucy makes a face.

"It doesn't seem fine," she comments.

"Well, um, uh," I stumble stupidly. "Al's just upset, that's all. And, uh, he's feeling defeated, you know? Like, nothing's helping and he's just tired of it happening all the time. That's all."

"Yeah, I get that," she tells me. I think I've fixed it. I exhale in relief just before she goes on, "But, I know you boys are hiding something. Did your stepmom really spray Al with a hose? Is that why _she_ and Victor aren't together anymore?" I'm sweating. What do I say?! We're supposed to tell her tomorrow, not today! What am I supposed to say to her?

"Uh..." I vocalize like an idiot. I take a deep breath and say, "Okay, here's the thing. The thing is, uh..." I cringe and the words just sort of spill out; " _She_ used to spray both of us with the hose. If we, uh, you know, wet the bed or had an accident at school or something, _she'd_ spray us. That's part of why, uh, they aren't together. There's lots of reasons. Relationships, _ha_ , they're complicated, am I right?" _Wow_. Smooth, Ed. Ending that sentence on "am I right" while laughing nervously. That's _awesome_.

"Oh, my goodness," Lucy sighs, rubbing Al's back. "That's awful. I can't believe _she'd_ do that to you. I'm so sorry." I don't say anything. I almost feel like I just lied to her even though I didn't. I just left out a lot of details. But that isn't lying. Is it?

"I'm sorry, too," Al cries, hiding his face.

"Al, you are such a good kid," Lucy tells him softly. "You're so kind and intelligent and patient. I don't think you have anything to be sorry about. It appears you've been having trouble with this lately and I know it's not your fault. Your dad knows, too. It's okay, buddy, it's okay." Al sniffles and nods.

"I did try my best," he says weakly. Lucy grins at him and she hugs him.

"Yes, you did," Lucy tells him. "Are you okay now?" Al nods and wipes his face.

"Yeah," Al says softly. "Thanks."

"No problem," she replies. "You're a good kid." Al looks away and Lucy stands up. "I'll let you get cleaned up." She leaves, ruffling my hair as she walks away. She shuts the door and I sigh loudly, bending over.

" _Holy shit_ ," I breathe, Al looking over at me.

"Sorry," he apologizes.

"It's okay," I tell him. "I know sometimes we just say stuff when we're upset." Al nods.

"Yeah, well, I almost made dinner tomorrow moot," Al chuckles weakly. I shuffle over and sit down next to him.

"Dude, that's gonna be awful," I complain. "You saw the way she reacted to hearing that we used to be sprayed with a hose. Imagine how she's gonna react when she hears the rest." Al hangs his head and weakly says;

"Maybe we... shouldn't tell her." I blink, Al shaking really bad. I run a hand through my hair and pat his head.

"I think it's happening no matter what we think or how it's gonna go," I tell him. "We just gotta hope she doesn't leave Dada over it."

"What if she does?" Al asks me. I shake my head.

"I don't know," I saw honestly. All I know is if she leaves, Dada ends up alone. I don't want that to happen. I sigh and say, "I think you should take a shower. Try not to worry about tomorrow, 'kay?" Al nods and gets up. I watch him get everything he needs and he leaves. I fall back on his bed and sigh. I quickly sit up and hurry downstairs.

"Dada!" I call. "Dad!" I run to the living room, Dad standing at the door. He turns around. His eyes look sad, but he smiles at me.

"What's wrong?" He asks. I swallow and lick my lips.

"Where's Lucy?" I ask. Dada blinks.

"Oh, um," he takes his glasses off and cleans them before saying, "She left rather suddenly. Told me she'd see us tomorrow evening and left." I glance backward at the sliding glass door.

"Yeah," I say.

"I know Al had an accident," Dad tells me.

"Oh," I say stupidly.

"I figure Lucy knows, too," Dada goes on. "Did it make her uncomfortable? I try to avoid talking to her about things that would embarrass you boys, so I haven't really told her about Al's recent incontinence issues, though I have mentioned he's been sick." I sigh.

" _Ugh_ , Dad, she heard Al crying and beat me to him," I explain. "She was trying to help and, uh, Al sort of told her about our stepmom using the hose on us." Dada sighs and hangs his head.

"I see," Dad says softly.

"Did Lucy even know about _her_?" I ask.

"Not really," Dada replies. "I've really only mentioned your mother. I mean, I think I told her I had been married twice, but it was in passing."

" _God_ ," I groan. "This is so messed up! I'm sorry!"

"Ed, you didn't do anything wrong," Dada tells me. "Neither did Al."

"Uh, yeah, except I totally confirmed that the hose-thing happened, and she got all freaked out!" I cry. "The same thing's gonna happen tomorrow! Maybe we just shouldn't, you know?!"

"Edward," Dada sighs. "We can't hide it from her anymore. I mean, she might become part of our family someday. We can't let it get that far and tell her then. It wouldn't be right. We need to tell her now."

"But what if she leaves?" I ask, wrapping my arms around my middle.

"Then she leaves," Dada tells me. "This is the risk I take by dating. When I date, if we get serious, I'm going to have to tell them what happened. I've told you boys before that I'm going to come off as a bad guy to a lot of people when they hear and that might happen tomorrow night. But we can't hide or run from it and we can't act like it didn't happen. Lucy deserves to know, period." I shrug.

"Yeah, I guess," I say half-heartedly. "I just... sorry in advance. I gotta go take the comforter off Al's bed."

" _Ed_ ," Dada sighs. I ignore him and go upstairs. I swap the damp comforter for a clean one and avoid Dada for the rest of the day.

It's almost time to meet Lucy at the restaurant. Part of me's scared she's gonna ditch. I think Al and I really freaked her out yesterday. I don't know. Anyway, we're all nervous because we aren't _really_ celebrating Al's birthday if she shows up. Well, okay, we are but we're also gonna ambush her with the abuse. It makes me feel gross on the inside. I mean, I know we can't hide it from her forever but to pretend the reason we're all going out is for Al's birthday feels dirty. We're lying to her. It doesn't feel right. She's gonna think we're all gonna have fun and then we're just gonna drop this bomb on her and... I don't know. There's probably no good way to do this. When you really think about it, no matter how we do it she's gonna get upset. There's no good way to tell someone your kids were abused by your second wife. Shit, dude. Dada really is gonna end up alone, isn't he? We drive to the restaurant and nobody's talking. I sigh and rest my head on the window. I don't want Dad to end up alone. Those last couple years with _her_ , he was miserable and now he's with someone who makes him happy. I don't want him to lose that because of me. I sniffle, my throat getting tight. Damn it. No matter how much progress I make, I always wind up blaming myself for the abuse. I sniffle again, trying not to cry. Logically, I know it's not my fault, but I still beat myself up over it. And not only do I beat myself up over the abuse, but I do it 'cause I helped break up the family. When Al told Winry, I just let him and our family just fell apart. Now... now we might be the reason it falls apart again. We might lose Lucy, all 'cause of me.

"Edward? What's the matter? Why are you crying?" I blink, realizing tears are on my face. I sniffle and look away, wiping my face.

"Doesn't matter," I mutter. Dada sighs.

"It matters to me," he insists, Al leaning forward in the backseat.

"I just don't want to be the reason Lucy leaves you, okay?" I cry weakly. "I already helped destroy our family once and I can't... I don't wanna put you through that again." Al looks away guiltily and Dada just stares at me.

"You... destroy the family?" He questions. I nod and Dada says, "Honey, you and Al _saved_ our family when you told Winry the truth. Our family was at its breaking point when you two did the brave thing and told everyone _she_ had been abusing you. And, honestly, I don't know if I want to be with someone who can't handle our baggage. I know it's a lot, but I think it'll say a lot about her if she sticks around."

"Yeah, but," I protest weakly.

"Ed, I mean it," Dada insists. "This won't be easy, but we need to do it. We need to be brave again." I sigh, Al squirming in the backseat.

"Dad, I don't know," he says worriedly. "This feels all wrong. She thinks we're doing birthday stuff. It feels wrong to tell her tonight."

"Al, there's never going to be a good or convenient way to do this," Dada points out. "And she has a birthday present for you, so we are doing birthday stuff." Al doesn't look so sure. Dada pulls into a parking lot and turns the car off.

"Dad," Al says nervously. Dada smiles at him.

"Whatever happens, happens," he tells us. "No matter what, we three are still a team. It'll be all right." I'm not so sure. Dada ending up alone is definitely not all right with me. I also don't want to hurt Lucy. I like her a lot. _God_ , this is so embarrassing, but I've gotten really attached to her. I really do want her and Dad to get married. Lucy's really smart and nice and funny and I feel comfortable around her now. When Dada promised he was gonna take things slow with her, he meant it. I don't think I really felt this connected with or this comfortable with _her_ before Dada married _her_. I get out of the car and take Al's hand.

"Okay, Al, what's our game plan?" I ask him. He and I came up with a plan to try and avoid him getting soaked tonight. I've found if he has a schedule to follow, he does a lot better because then his body doesn't get a chance to be a dick to him 'cause he's already peed. I mean, it's not an exact science, but it works most of the time.

"I go as soon as we get inside, then I try after forty-five minutes," Al tells me. "After that, I try once every hour until we go home. When we get inside, I'll know exactly where the bathrooms are in case I gotta go really suddenly. If something does happen, I'll tie my jacket around my waist and say our safe word."

"Which is?" I prompt.

"It's new shoes," Al answers. "So, I'll say something like, 'I need new shoes,' you and Dada will know we gotta go."

"Okay, good job," I praise. "And if you can't handle what we're talking about, you're gonna tell me you gotta go outside and I'll do the same thing." Al nods.

"Brother, I'm scared," Al admits. I nod and squeeze his hand.

"I know, I am, too," I tell him. We get inside and I tug on Dad's arm. "I'm taking Al to the bathroom."

"Oh, good," Dada replies. "I'll wait right here. We have a reservation and don't have much longer to wait. I'll text, Ed, if we get seated before you two get back." I nod and pull on Al's arm.

"C'mon, Alphie," I encourage. "It's okay. Just go to the safe place in your head the way Dr. Hughes taught you." Al nods and I find the bathroom. Al's doing better in public lately, despite all the shit going on. Dr. Hughes taught us a trick for being out in public that works most of the time. He told us to try to go someplace safe, like our house or a place we like, when we get overwhelmed in public. It sounds kinda stupid, but it helps. I go in the bathroom with Al and he manages to go. He washes his hands and I grab a hand again. Dad hasn't texted me, so we go back to the main entrance.

"You're just in time," I hear Dad say. I look over and Lucy's standing next to him with Dada's arm around her waist. Lucy grins at us and says,

"Our table's ready, boys. And Al, I'll give you your present when we sit down." Al fidgets, blush on his cheeks.

"Oh, um, you really didn't have to," Al mumbles, anxious and embarrassed.

"Well, of course I did," Lucy replies with a smile. "It's not every day a boy turns fifteen. It's worth celebrating, I think!" Al blinks and looks down at his shoes. The host takes us to our table and we all sit down. I sit down next to Al and Lucy puts a gift bag on the table.

"Okay, go head!" Lucy says excitedly. Al swallows, shakily and delicately removing the paper from the bag. He pulls something out and looks at it.

"What is it, Al?" Dada asks.

"It's... how did you know?" Al asks, his voice shaking.

"You told me, goof ball," Lucy tells him.

"But... But it's so expensive," Al protests.

"Sweetie, what did she get you?" Dad asks.

"It's a dragon model that I can build," Al says. "I saw it on the internet and mentioned I love puzzles and models and LEGOs and stuff. Lucy... she remembered."

"There's something else in there for you," Lucy tells him. Al blinks and digs in the bag. He pulls out a poster.

"Oh, it's one of those scratch off ones!" I say excitedly. "Al told me he wanted one, like, months ago. It's one with books, Dada, so he scratches off a box and there's a book underneath for him to read. It's really cool!"

"Oh, that is neat," Dada agrees. "Lucy, that is so nice. You know my little boy so well." Lucy grins.

"I like to think so," she says. Okay, now I really feel gross. All this happy stuff's gonna go away when we tell her what we really brought her here to tell her. This is gross. This isn't right. She gave Al some really nice presents.

"Thank you," Al says softly, putting everyone back in the bag and setting it on the floor. "You really didn't have to. I didn't need anything."

"Al, stop it," Lucy says. "It's for your birthday. I want you to have them and be happy." Al looks at his lap and Dada quickly says,

"Well, let's decide what to eat, huh, boys?" I haven't even looked at my menu. I open it and Dada says, "The merlot here is quite good, Lucy. We can get a bottle."

"Oh, sure," she agrees. "That sounds great. I was thinking of getting beef. I think it would pair very well."

"This merlot pairs well with most things," Dada tells her. I stare at my menu. I don't feel good. My insides are all twisted up because this feels wrong. We shouldn't be doing this. We shouldn't tell her like this. Al tugs on my sleeve. I look over at him and he tells me with his eyes he doesn't feel good. I nod and pat his head.

"Ed, do you know what you want?" Dad asks. I shrug.

"I, uh, don't know," I say. "Is there Sprite? Al and I want that."

"Okay," he says. "There's some good pastas here and they have steaks and burgers. Take your time. Al, what about you?"

"I don't know," he says softly. "Soup?"

"That's all you've been eating for three months," Dad comments with a sigh. Al sinks further in his seat and Dad says, "Why don't you try something else? There's plenty of good things to try." Al groans softly and Lucy says,

"How about this, Al? I get a steak and you get soup and we share. Does that sound okay?" Al perks up a little.

"Are you sure?" He asks.

"Of course I am," she replies with a smile. "What sides do you like?"

"Broccoli," Al answers. "Oh, and mashed potatoes."

"That does sound good," Lucy agrees warmly. I feel even worse now. She's so nice and we're going to do something so shitty to her. I don't think I'm gonna be able to eat at all.

We order and I get some alfredo pasta because it's bland and I feel like shit. The Sprite isn't helping at all. When our food comes I pick at it, Dada and Lucy making conversation mostly with each other. Al gets up to go to the bathroom and I just stare at my food. I can't eat. I can't help but think about what we're going to do to her. It's just not right. It's so mean. We're not mean people, are we? I don't think so but good Lord, it's mean. Al comes back and keeps nibbling on his food. He and Lucy split their food up and Al has had a little bit of everything. Since he's eating, I try to, too. Dad clears his throat and I freeze up. _We're doing it now?!_

"Um, Lucy, there's something... what I mean is, the boys and I have been meaning to share this with you for a long time and –" Lucy holds up a hand and Dad stops.

"I know you've been married twice," she says. "And I know _she_ wasn't kind to the boys and you divorced _her_. There isn't much else to say, and it doesn't bother me, really." Dada blinks and shakes his head.

"No, it goes beyond not being kind," Dad says miserably. "Look, Lucy, I want you to know I love these boys dearly and what happened, well, I am partially to blame but I didn't know it was happening because I used to travel a lot more for work."

" _Victor_ ," Lucy breathes, her eyes wide, "What are you talking about?"

"My second wife, Vanessa, was physically and emotionally abusive toward the boys." It feels like the whole world has stopped. I stare at Lucy, her face stuck in a look of shock mixed with horror mixed with pity. We all sit and stare at her, Lucy's eyes landing on Al and me.

" _She_... _abused_ them?" Lucy chokes out. Dada nods and I look away. "Oh, my God, for how long?"

"About seven years," Dada sighs. " _She_ did it when I was away for work but as the years went on, _her_ verbal abuse started to leak out when I was around. _She_ and I were having marriage troubles for three years when the truth came out and –"

" _She's_ the reason I don't have my left leg," I blurt out. "And why I have a scar above my right eye. And the reason Al and me are the way we are." Lucy shakes her head.

"How... how is _she_ the reason you lost your leg?" Lucy asks. I gulp and shake my head.

"Uh... doesn't matter," I mumble, Dad sighing again.

"When Ed was ten, he tried to tell Pinako what was happening and cut his leg really badly on a fence," Dad explains solemnly. "Vanessa didn't do anything about it. Didn't call me, didn't take him to see anyone, nothing. So, ah, he got sepsis and an infection in his shin bone and, well, amputation was the only option."

"Good God," Lucy states obviously in shock. "I don't believe this. How could you let that happen to them!? They're just little boys!"

"I was blinded by this idea I had of what my family should look like," Dada tells her, his voice shaking. "I thought I was doing the right thing and I was gravely mistaken. I want nothing more than to take it back, but I can't."

"Victor, I can't believe this," Lucy says. "Seven years and you never knew? How can that be? I see you with them; you're always so good to them. How could you let _her_ do that to them?!" Dada hangs his head and I grit my teeth.

"It's not his fault," Al says softly. I look at him and he says, "It's not. It's mine. It's my fault." Al's lip trembles, big fat tears welling up in his big eyes and he starts to cry softly. "It's my fault. It's always been. It's my fault Mom died and m-my fault _she_ started hurting us. I-I had an accident in my bed and then _she_ hit me. It's my fault. Not his." Lucy blinks. Her chin quivers and I see tears in her eyes.

"No," she whispers, standing up. She walks over to Al and awkwardly hugs him. "No. Not your fault." I sit stunned, watching her comfort Al. Dad wipes his eyes, sniffling as Lucy soothes Al. Lucy looks over at Dada and says,

"Swear to me you had no idea what _she_ was doing to them."

"I swear," Dada answers, sniffling. "If I had known, I would have divorced _her_ and ended it right then and there. These boys are my life. I love them more than anything." Lucy nods, wiping her face.

"I have a lot to think about, Victor, I'm sorry," Lucy says, standing up. "I'm sorry." Lucy leaves and I hide my face in my hands.

"So, did we save room for desert?" Our waiter asks. Dad shakes his head.

"Check, please."

It's been three days since dinner. Lucy hasn't called or come over or anything. Dinner went exactly like I thought it would – poorly. Dada says he's seen her at work but it feels like she's avoiding him. She doesn't just pop into his office like she usually does to chat. She isn't bringing him coffee and when he tries to bring her some, the office door is closed and locked, but the light's always on. They haven't done lab prep together, either. Lucy's going to be going on her trip soon, too, so if they don't patch things up soon, I'm pretty sure they're done. I think Dad feels that way, too. Dad's been moping a lot since dinner. I know he says she needed to know, and maybe she did, but Dada's miserable now. We all are. Our house is messy again and we've been eating sandwiches lately. Granny invited us to dinner last night, so we went to that and she could tell right away that Dad was miserable. Dad's upstairs. He's been spending lots of time up there lately. Al and I are in the living room. Al's been very quiet. Since the dinner with Lucy, he's been really low. He also cut yesterday so that was awesome. He's working on building dragon Lucy gave to him. I have a book but I'm not reading it. The doorbell rings so I get up, Al watching me go to the door. I open it, gasping when I see who's here.

" _Lucy?_ " I question. She's got a big bag from a restaurant and she shifts nervously.

"Hey, Ed," she greets awkwardly. "Can I come in?" I frown and lean up against the doorframe.

"You here to break up with my dad?" I ask softly, not looking at her.

" _Edward_ ," she sighs, "look, buddy, I don't really know why I'm here, okay? I just felt like I needed to come. We need to talk about what happened." I shrug and cross my arms.

"No, we don't," I argue weakly, looking down at the floor. "If you wanna leave and never look back, I wouldn't blame you. That's what I wanna do half the time. I wouldn't blame you if you decided not to be part of our family 'cause of this. I mean, Al and I are noisy at night time and we both still wet the bed and we almost always have nightmares. Trust me – you probably would be better off if you stayed away." Lucy sighs.

"But… but I don't want to stay away," she says softly. My head snaps up.

" _What?_ " I breathe.

"I want to be a part of your lives," Lucy tells me. "I want to be here." I shake my head. No…. No way! There's no way she means that! She has no idea how messy our lives really are. If she really knew….

"I don't get it," I tell her honestly. "How could you still wanna be anywhere near us after what we told you? And how could you forgive the way we told you? I mean, we dragged you to a restaurant and lied, saying it was all for Al's birthday when it wasn't! And our lives… they're so, so messy. Al and I can barely be out in public and we don't do the things normal teenagers do. I used to cut myself and start fires on purpose. I don't anymore, but I used to. And, you know, I carry around a stuffed lamb and my blankie in my backpack. Oh, and I have anxiety attacks and panic attacks pretty regularly. Have you ever seen one of those? They can be scary to watch. Al gets 'em, too. And, you know, we go to therapy twice a week and go to group therapy every Wednesday and…."

"Ed," Lucy interrupts and I stop talking immediately. She grins weakly at me and says, "It's okay. I don't care how messy your lives are. None of that stuff scares me, bud. It makes me sad, sure, but it doesn't scare me. This is where I want to be." My throat gets tight, my lip trembling.

" _Oh_ ," I whimper, footsteps behind me.

"Brother? Are you okay? Who's here?" I hear Al gasp and he says, "Lucy! What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to have dinner," she replies. "Can I come in?" Al fidgets.

"I don't know," he says, his voice wavering. "I want you to, but it might be too weird."

"Al, it might be, but I wanted to see you three," she tells him. "I want to talk about what happened at dinner. I want to be here." I wipe my face. I can't believe she's here and saying that she _wants_ to be here. That she _wants_ to be with _us._ I thought what happened freaked her out way too much but here she is.

"Um," Al vocalizes nervously. " _Dada!_ " He turns and hurries upstairs, calling, "Dad! Dada!" I sigh, Lucy looking over at me.

"I am sorry about the other night," she apologizes. I blink and she says, "It was just a lot to hear. I couldn't believe it and I was concerned that maybe your father isn't the person I thought he was."

"What do you think now?" I ask worriedly.

"I think I can see how he could get wrapped up in an idea he had for what his family was 'supposed' to look like and since he was traveling more for work, I can see how he wouldn't have known," Lucy tells me. "Your father is a good man, raising good boys all on his own. I realized I wanted to be by his side during that, helping you in any way I can."

"It's messy," I tell her. "We're so messy. Do you realize that we have one night of uninterrupted sleep maybe a couple times a month? Most of them time, one of us is scared or crying or having a nightmare or peed everywhere and I don't just mean in bed. I sleepwalk and sometimes we just don't make it when we wake up. Al and I sleep in Dada's bed a lot. I think we're too much for you… or for anyone."

"Edward," she sighs. "None of that matters to me. Well, I mean, it does, but not in a negative way. It matters to me because I want to help you through all that. I really mean it when I say that I _want_ to be here."

"Lucy." I glance back, Dada and Al standing behind me. Dad shakes his head and he says, "This is a surprise. Come in, please." I step back and Lucy comes in.

"Hey, Victor," she greets. "I brought dinner if you're hungry." Dada looks her up and down.

"It's nice to see you," he says. "I, ah, was beginning to fear we had truly scared you away the other night. I am sorry about that. I just felt as we're, well, we were getting serious, so you needed to know the boys were abused in the past. There's a lot more that comes with it, you know. We do therapy two times a week and their behavior doesn't always make sense and our nights are often long with no rest and –"

"Victor," Lucy cuts off. "Ed told me about how sleepless it gets around here and I'll tell you what I told him – I don't care."

"Excuse me?" Dada asks, baffled.

"You silly man," Lucy sighs. "I love you. Your past is hard and painful, but it doesn't change how I feel." Al squeaks and covers his mouth, though I can see the ends of a smile behind his hand.

" _Aw,_ " he swoons. Al is a bit of a hopeless romantic like Dad.

"You... love me?" Dada asks softly. "We haven't said that to each other yet."

"Well, I'm saying it now," Lucy tells him. "I love you, Victor. I love you and I love your boys."

"I love you, too," Dada replies, Al squeaking again.

" _Yay_ ," Al says happily, shutting his eyes.

"So, you two aren't over?" I ask. She's not running away? This makes no sense. I thought she was going to. What is going on?

"Far from it, Ed, I think," Dada replies, walking over to her. They kiss and I gag.

"Okay, we get it," I complain. I look away and smile a little. I was so worried I had ruined the happiest relationship Dad's had since Mom, but I didn't. They're still together. There's a lot she still doesn't know, but I think she can handle it when it pops up. I mean, if she can survive the abuse ambush at a fancy restaurant, I think Lucy can survive anything.


	8. Chapter 8: Daddy, Dada, Bastard, Dad

Happy Father's Day (a week late, I know) to all the dads out there! The world is a better place because of what you do for your kiddos. To any fathers out there who have lost children, to children who have lost their father, to the children with strained or no father relationship, and to those longing to be fathers, you are valid and the world is a better place because of you.

* * *

 _"Of all the titles I've been privileged to have, 'Dad' has always been the best." - Ken Norton_

* * *

I love my daddy. He takes care of me and Al. Daddy keeps us safe. Dada comforts me when I'm sad and lets me sleep in his bed. He's not good at cooking or cleaning, but he tries his best. Mrs. Davis is coming over tomorrow. It's something Daddy calls a home visit. It's scary. I've seen her a lot since…. She's been around a lot. Dada says the home visit is to check on us. I'm scared. Al's not doing so good. He's better than he was over the summer, but he's still in a bad place. He gets homeschooled now. Teacher and Granny help teach him while Dada works. I still go to school, but it's hard. I never know what to say or what to do. Kids pick on me 'cause I'm small and I carry my blankie around and I have accidents at school sometimes. And, sometimes, I can't breathe. Sometimes, it feels like _she's_ still here and is gonna hurt me 'cause I've been bad. When that happens, I freeze up. My chest gets tight. My heart beats funny. It's scary. I throw up sometimes when it happens. I'm not doing good in school, either. I can't concentrate and I have bad grades. I'm doing bad things. I say bad words. I get mad and hit Dada or Teacher or Al. I push Winry and Ling sometimes when I'm mad. I hurt myself on purpose. I sneak out of the house to set stuff on fire. I run away from home and call Dada mean names. I'm scared that Dada will tell Mrs. Davis all this stuff and we'll get taken away again. I don't wanna get taken away. I'm not trying to be a bad boy, but I can't stop.

I had a bad day at school today. I pushed Ling at gym 'cause he asked me to come to my house to play. He got upset and I felt bad. I told him I was sorry. I got in trouble, though. They called Dada. He had to come to the school and talk to my principal. He didn't really talk to me, though. I'm scared. Dada hasn't hurt us. He doesn't yell a lot and he's never, ever locked me up. Dada doesn't hit me with the chain or make us play cleaning games. He doesn't make me stand in front of my mirror all night. But I keep doing bad things. I keep yelling at my friends and pushing them down. I keep yelling at Al and hitting him. I keep hitting Dada and calling him bad names. I keep hurting myself, running away, and setting fires. Mrs. Davis is coming tomorrow, and I'm scared about that. But what I'm more scared of is what Dada will do to me after school. He has lab today. Teacher comes to get me on those days. School's over. I'm sitting outside, waiting for Teacher. I hear someone walking over to me and I look. It's Ling. I blush and look away. Why does he want to talk to me? I can't believe he's my friend after I've been so mean to him. He sits down next to me.

"Hey," he says. I don't look at him. I've got tears in my eyes. My throat is tight.

"I'm sorry," I cry, wiping my eyes.

"It's okay," Ling tells me. "I don't get it, but it's okay. You don't wanna come to my house, so I thought I'd ask to come to yours. It's okay if you don't want me to come over."

"I… I do want you to come over," I say. "I just…." I don't know what to tell him. Dada says it's okay for me to tell people. I think he's wrong. It's not okay. It's never been okay. _She'll_ find out. _She_ always does.

"Um, are your parents getting divorced?" Ling whispers. I nod.

"Yes," I whisper back. Ling nods, resting his face on his hand.

"That's hard," Ling says. "I'm sorry, dude. I think I get it. It's hard to have people at your house when that's happening. But you can always come over to my house to play. I've got the pool. Oh, well, it's closed now 'cause it's fall, but I've got lots of video games." I nod.

"I've been so mean," I cry. "If you don't wanna be my friend anymore, that's okay. I wouldn't wanna be my friend."

"Nah, we're cool, dude," Ling tells me, standing up. "We're best friends. I gotta go to practice, but we can talk later. Are you gonna be online tonight?" I shrug.

"I don't know," I reply. "I might get in trouble for pushing you down. I got in trouble at school, so Dada might ground me."

"Gotcha," Ling says. "I hope he doesn't. I'm not hurt and I'm not mad at you. You're going through a lot and I get it." I blink. I don't deserve a friend when I'm so mean. Why isn't he mad at me? I don't understand. Maybe if he knew all the other bad stuff I do, then he'd stop being my friend. Ling gets up and pats my arm. "See ya, Ed."

"Bye," I say. Ling leaves and I bring my knees to my chest. I hate feeling bad all the time. I don't wanna feel this way. I don't know how to make it stop. I look up, Teacher's car waiting for me. I get up and walk to her car. Al's in the backseat. He always is. He never stays home by himself. I don't, either. I get in the front seat. Teacher sighs and looks over at me.

"Your dad told me what happened today," she says. I glare at her.

"So?" I question.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Teacher asks me. I shrug.

"I don't know," I say. "I feel bad I pushed Ling. He's my friend." Teacher nods.

"So, why did you push him?" Teacher asks.

"He wants to come over to play with me," I explain. "I should have just said no, but I didn't. I got mad and upset and scared and pushed him. Why can't I just be good, Teacher? I'm failing language arts and I gotta tell Dada today. I just wanna be a good boy for Dada, but I can't! Why can't I?"

"Bug," Teacher says softly. "You're doing your best. We all know you're doing your best." I shake my head. My throat is tight still. I'm gonna start crying. I'll just cut when I get home.

"I'm sorry," I cry. "Dada's gonna be so mad at me."

"No, I don't think he will be," Teacher tells me. I look back at Al. He barely talks anymore. "Al," Teacher says, "do you want to tell Ed what we did today?" Al looks up at me.

"Um…" Al says so softly I can barely hear him. "Um, we… I did leaf rubs."

"Really?" I ask. Al nods. "Did you go outside?" Al nods again.

"Yes," he whispers. "The backyard."

"What kind of leaves did we rub, Al?" Teacher encourages.

"S-Silver m-maple," Al stutters. It's hard for Al to talk now. When he was littler, it wasn't. Al could talk forever. He can't now. It's hard for him to say anything. Over the summer, Al never talked. He talks a little now, but it's still not a lot. "S-Sycamore. Birch."

"We learned those are the trees in your backyard," Teacher tells me. "I think Al really enjoyed it, Ed. He smiled the whole time." Al doesn't smile, either. Al used to be silly and tell jokes and smile and laugh. He doesn't anymore.

"Al likes artsy stuff," I say. "I think rubbing leaves was a good idea. And Al likes science."

"I also think he liked getting out of the house," Teacher says. "Being outside was good for him." I nod.

"When's Dada gonna be home?" I ask.

"After seven," Teacher answers. "Sig has to work at the restaurant tonight, so I'll make us some dinner." I nod. We get home and I hurry to the bathroom. I don't gotta use it. I gotta cut myself. I search for the pair of scissors that I hide in the cabinet. Dada took a lot of the sharp stuff away, the bastard. I hate him sometimes. Everything that happened to me is his fault. He married _her_ and never noticed what _she_ was doing. Bastard. Bastard. _Bastard!_ I cut into my skin, wincing a little. It hurts but I keep doing it. I was bad. I gotta be punished somehow. Besides, why does it matter if I get hurt? It never mattered before. I cut some more, some one weakly knocking at the door.

"Go away!" I yell. I finish up and wrap my arms up in gauze. I put my hoodie back on and open the door. Al's outside the bathroom and I glare at him. "Leave me alone, you stupid baby!" I push him, Al falling into the wall. I stomp off to our room, Al crying a little. That's all he does now.

"Shut up!" I yell. "Stop crying! You have it easy!"

"Edward!" Teacher calls, walking up the stairs. "Did you push Alphonse?" I nod.

"Yes, I did," I growl. "Just leave me alone!" My sleeve feels wet and I glance down at it. Blood is on my sleeve. Shit.

"Did you cut again?" Teacher asks. I swallow and show her my arm.

"Yes," I admit. I feel terrible. I was mean again. I hurt myself again. I know I shouldn't. I walk over to her and hang my head.

"Oh, Ed," she sighs and I start crying.

"I-I'm sorry," I cry. It's getting hard to breathe. "I-I was mean to Al!" Teacher puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Have you told Al you're sorry?" Teacher asks me. She's using a nice voice. I'm not scared when she talks like that. I'm just sad 'cause I've been bad.

"N-No," I cry.

"Let's say sorry to him now, okay?" Teacher suggests. "Then, I'll help you with your arm. After that, I think you need some alone time in your room." I nod. I walk over to Al and he backs away from me.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, crying. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?" Al nods and stands up. He hurries to Teacher and hides behind her. I feel bad. It's my job to take care of Al and protect him. And I haven't been a very good brother. I hide my face in my hands, crying like a baby. "I haven't b-been a g-good big br-brother an' I w-wanna be! I'm sorry!"

"Bean," Teacher says to Al. "Is there anything you want to tell Ed?" I peek through my fingers at them and see Al nod.

"You…." Al swallows hard and says, "You're my big brother best friend." I am? Even though I've been so mean? I don't understand. Why doesn't he hate me?

"I love you, Alphie," I cry.

"Ed, let's get your arm bandaged a little better," Teacher says. I nod and walk over to her. She walks downstairs and I follow her. She takes the gauze I put on my arm off. Teacher cleans the cuts and doesn't say anything. I don't want her to say anything. I already feel bad. She puts new gauze on and makes sure it's tighter, so it stays on. I know I gotta go to my room now. Teacher said I needed a time out. I guess she's right. I go back up the stairs. I'm scared of what's gonna happen to me when that bastard gets home. I don't always think Dad's a bastard. I just think he is when I'm angry or sad. And, lately, that's all I am. I don't like being sad or angry all the time. I don't like thinking about Dad that way. But I don't know how to fix it.

I lay down on my bed and stare at the ceiling. I'm sorry I pushed Ling. I'm sorry I'm failing classes. I'm sorry I hurt myself again. I'm scared of what Dad's gonna do. I'm scared of what Mrs. Davis is gonna do tomorrow when we see her. I don't really understand the home visit. I don't want her to see me and decide to take me away from Dad. I don't want her to hear about all the bad things I'm doing and decide that Dad should go to jail. I don't wanna be the reason the family falls apart again. I want Dad to love me and be proud of me. But lately, I've done nothing to make him proud. That makes me feel really sad. I roll over. Dad can't love me. He can't be proud of me. I'm unlovable. I don't do anything to make anyone proud. _She_ says so. I guess it's true. I am a really rotten kid. Good boys don't push their friends and little brother. Good boys don't run away from home and they don't hurt themselves on purpose. Good boys don't set fires or fail classes. I do all those things. I'm not a good boy. There's no way Dada can love me. I've been alone for a while when the door opens. Teacher comes in and I sit up. She sits next to me and pats my back.

"Dinner's ready," she tells me. "Are you hungry?" I shake my head.

"No," I answer. We sit together for a little while and I say, "Teacher?"

"What is it?" She asks.

"It's just… um…." I'm not sure how to say what I wanna say. "D'you think… d'you think Dad loves me?" Teacher blinks before nodding.

"Of course he loves you," Teacher assures me. I hang my head.

"How can he?" I ask, sniffling. My throat is tight again. "I'm… I'm not a good son. I hit him and yell at him and hit Al and push Al down. I yell at my friends and push them. I fail my classes and wet my pants and run away. I like setting stuff on fire and I hurt myself on purpose. How can he love me when I'm so bad?"

"Ed," Teacher sighs, "things are hard right now. We all know how hard things are. Some of the things you do you're only doing because you don't know how to deal with the feelings the abuse has left you with. Your father knows this, Ed, and wants to help you. He loves you so very much."

"If that bastard loves me so much, why did he marry _her?_ " I ask angrily, starting to cry. "I just don't understand!"

"I don't understand, either," Teacher tells me. "From the moment I met you boys, I knew your stepmother was nothing but an abuser. How in the world your father never caught on, I'll never know. I think maybe he was just too close to the situation or had blinders on, unwilling to accept his mistake. It can be hard to admit to anyone you've made a mistake, right, Ed?" I nod.

"Y-Yeah," I reply. "Like, I don't want Dad to hate me when I make mistakes. I try to hide them, but he always finds out. I usually end up telling him what I did." Teacher smiles at me.

"Do you know why that is?" Teacher asks. I shrug. I really don't know why that is. Is it 'cause I'm stupid? That's probably what it is. "It's because you're honest," Teacher tells me. I make a face. What?

"Huh?" I ask, confused. It's not 'cause I'm stupid?

"Ed, you don't like to lie," Teacher says. "You never have. You are very open with people you love and trust and you're just all around an honest kid. You want to be honest with your father and that's a very good thing."

"But… I wasn't honest when… when…." I stop talking. It's getting hard to breathe! I'm not supposed to talk about this! It's against _her_ rules! Everyone says I don't gotta follow _her_ rules anymore, but I do! I always gotta! I'm wheezing. My chest hurts!

"Edward," Teacher says, using her voice that makes me feel safe. "It's all right. Try breathing slowly in through your nose and then out with your mouth." I try. I try really hard. But I can't! It's too hard! I gotta go cut! That's the only thing that helps! I try to get up, but Teacher grabs my arm. I start to cry. I'm trying to get away from her. I hit her.

"L-Let m-m-me go!" I wheeze.

"Bug," Teacher says, "I will not allow you to do that to yourself again today. I need you to calm down."

"L-Leave me alone!" I scream. "I hate you! Leave me alone!" Teacher lets go of my arm. She stands up and I watch her walk to the door.

"You can try to push us away, but we're not going to give up on you," she tells me. "If you cut again, I'm not sure what your father's going to do. He's at his breaking point, Ed. He isn't sure what more he can do for you. I think it's clear you need more alone time." Teacher leaves and I bury my face in my hands. What's wrong with me?! I don't hate Teacher! I love Teacher! Now she's mad at me! If I hurt myself now, she'll only hate me more! I can't do it again today. I don't want her to hate me like Dad does! That bastard! He doesn't wanna help me! I cry and cry and lose track of time. After a long time, I can hear the front door opening. Oh, no! Dada's home! I stand up and look at the door. I know he's gonna come in and talk to me. I don't wanna talk to that bastard! I love him and hate him at the same time. My door opens and Dad walks in. He shuts the door and sighs, hanging his head.

"So," he says quietly. "you've had a bad day today, huh?" I nod, not looking at him.

"Yes," I whisper.

"Why did you push Ling?" Dad asks me. I shrug.

"I… I don't know," I answer. "He… he asked to come over to play an' I got scared and sad an' a little mad an' pushed instead of saying words. I… I'm sorry."

"I know you are," Dada sighs. "Did you apologize to Ling?" I nod.

"Yes," I say softly. "Dada, I… I'm failing language arts. I'm… I'm sorry."

"Ed," he exhales. "Another class?" I nod, tears in my eyes. I'm embarrassed. But, I'm also angry. It's his fault! It's all his fault! I don't wanna be here! "Teacher told me you cut. Edward, we've talked about this. Hurting yourself is not a good way to deal with your feelings."

"What the hell do you know, you bastard!" I yell, angry. "You don't know anything! It's all your fault!"

"Ed," Dad says and I shake my head.

"Shut up!" I scream. "I don't even wanna live with you anymore! I hate you! You're just a bastard! You're not my dad! I don't wanna be part of your family!" Dad's eyes widen and I stomp passed him. I run down the stairs and out the door. I don't wanna live with that bastard anymore! He's not my dad! My dad wouldn't have married _her_! He wouldn't have ignored us when _she_ was hurting us! I don't need him! I can live on my own! I'll get a job! I run down the street. Wait, people can't get jobs until they're fourteen in Illinois with a work permit. Damn it! I won't be fourteen until February! Now what do I do? I guess… maybe Annie would take me in? She's always been nice to me and I did sorta want to stay with her. I think I can remember where she lives. Yeah, that's where I'll go. Forget that bastard and the cry baby. I'm not part of their family anymore.

I'm walking to Annie's house. It's sorta far away, but I'm not gonna give up and go home. That's not my house anymore anyways. I don't wanna be in their family. It's not safe. I'm not safe. Dad just isn't safe. He's a bastard. Everything is his fault. I don't wanna live with him. But Annie… she's safe. She's always been safe. And she didn't marry _her_ then ignore me. Annie pays attention to me. I keep walking. It's kinda cold. It's a good thing I kept my hoodie on. I stop. I didn't pack any of my stuff! Maybe Annie can go and get it for me. I think I've made it to her neighborhood. I walk down the sidewalk and spot her house. I run. I gotta get there. I run to her door and ring the doorbell. I hope she's home. She's gotta be home. If she's not, I don't know what I'm gonna do. The door opens and I finally see her. Annie doesn't look surprised to see me. I can't help it. I hug her.

"Hey," she greets. "Let's talk, okay?" I nod. Annie leads me inside and closes her door. I see toys on the floor. My heart's beating fast.

"Do… is there a kid here?" I ask. Annie nods.

"There is," she confirms. "We need to talk, Ed." Oh, no. This isn't gonna work, is it? I mope to her dining room and sit down. Annie sits down next to me and pats my head.

"You don't want me," I sniffle. It's kinda pathetic. But I'm kinda pathetic.

"That's not what it is at all," Annie tells me. "Honey, you're not a foster kid anymore. I can't keep you. You belong at home with your dad and Al." I grit my teeth.

"He's _not_ my dad," I spit. "He's a bastard! He doesn't care about me!"

"What makes you say that?" Annie asks calmly. I blink, my chin quivering. Isn't it obvious? He never cared when I… when I…. Tears are on my face. I'm crying and now, I can't stop.

"H-He always takes _her_ side," I cry. "A-And T-T-Teacher says he's at his breaking point! It's 'cause I've been so bad! I'm not trying to be bad!"

"What have you been doing?" Annie asks.

"I set fires an' run away from home an' yell an' hurt myself an' push Al an' my friends," I tell her breathlessly. "I fail my classes an' hit Dada an' call him mean names an' say bad words. _S-She_ was right about me along! I'm a bad boy! How… how could Dad love a bad boy like me? He's not the bastard. I am!"

"Oh, sweetheart," Annie says gently. "I didn't realize you've had such a hard time adjusting to being back home. I'm so sorry things are hard."

"I don't know what to do!" I wail. "I-I told D-Daddy that I hate him, b-but I don't! I love him so much! An' we have a home v-visit tomorrow an' I'm scared th-they'll take me or D-Daddy away!"

"Slow down, Ed," Annie tells me. "Let's talk about the home visit first. Do you know why the social worker is coming to visit?" I shake my head.

"N-No," I whisper, crying. "I-Is it 'cause I've b-been bad?" Annie shakes her head.

"Of course not," Annie tells me. "Mrs. Davis is coming to check on you and see how things are going. She needs to come over to make sure your daddy is doing what he's supposed to and see how things are going to make sure you and Al are safe. It's not to punish you or to take anyone away, I promise."

"It's scary," I admit to her. "I'm so scared!

"Are you seeing a therapist, Ed?" Annie asks. I nod.

"Y-Yeah," I answer. "We started seeing him a couple weeks ago. His name is Dr. Hughes. He's nice."

"What are some things he's taught you to do when you're scared?" Annie asks me. I sniffle. It's hard to think when I'm scared.

"Um…" I say, trying to think. "He taught me how to breathe an' I should color or make red lines on my skin instead of hurting myself. It's hard, Annie. I'm trying really hard but I'm failing! Daddy m-must hate me by now! I-I signed a contract that I w-wouldn't cut or set fires anymore, but I still am!"  
"Change, even good change, can be hard," Annie says gently. I look over at her and she smiles at me. "Give yourself sometime to heal and adjust and, before you know it, you won't be doing those things anymore. Do you want to do those things?" I shake my head.

"No," I say, rubbing my eyes. "No! I don't! I want to be good! I want to make Daddy love me and proud of me!"

"Can I tell you a secret?" Annie whispers. I nod, a little scared of what she's gonna say.

"O-Okay," I whisper back.

"Your daddy does love you," she tells me. I blink, tears still going down my face. "He loves you so, so much."

"Did… did he call you today?" I ask. "About me?" Annie nods.

"He thought you might come over here," Annie says. "He's worried about you, Ed. He wants you to come home. He wants you to be safe. He loves you, sweetie. He loves you so, so much." I hide my face with my hands and start to cry. I cry and cry, Annie rubbing my back.

"I-I wanna g-go home!" I wail.

"Let me call your daddy," Annie tells me. I don't see her grab her phone. I'm crying too hard. Soon, though, I hear her say, "Victor, hi. Yes, he's here. He's safe, he's okay. He's upset, but he's okay. I know. I know. Did you know he was scared of the home visit? Yeah, he is. I explained to him what it was, but it might be good for you to talk to him about it. He says he wants to go home now. Want to talk to him?" Annie pats my shoulder. I look at her. She's holding her phone out to me. I shake my head.

"I can't," I tell her. "He's mad at me."

"I don't think he is," Annie says. "He wants to talk to you." I swallow and take her phone. My hands are shaking. I bring the phone up to my ear.

"D-Daddy?" I say into the phone.

"Ed, are you okay?" Dada asks worriedly. "Are you hurt anywhere?" I shake my head.

"I'm not hurt," I tell him, crying. "I'm really sorry. I don't hate you."

"I know you don't," Dad replies gently.

"An' I don't think you're a bastard," I keep going. "An' I do blame you for stuff, but I don't think it's really all your fault! An' I'm sorry I'm failing math and language arts! I'm just scared an' sad an' it's hard to do school! An' I'm sorry I hurt myself! I'm trying not to, I really am!"

"Breathe, Ed," Dada tells me. I just stop talking. It's hard to breathe. "Listen to me. I know you don't think I'm bastard. I know you're just angry and upset and confused. It's okay. All you need to do is try to think of kinder words when you're upset. I know it's hard, but I believe in you. You can do it, sweetheart. You're a kind boy. I know you blame me and, Ed, I do shoulder some of the blame. I know I do. It's okay to blame me, honey. But, like I said, we just need to try to use kinder words to express that. Honey, I know school is hard right now. I know it is. Is there anyway I can help you with your classes?"

"Um," I say. I don't know what to say. Why is he being so nice to me? I said and thought and did such awful things. Why isn't he calling me names? Why isn't he yelling? I don't understand. "Um, maybe we do homework together? Or help me when it's hard to do stuff?"

"Sure, I can do that," Dada says. "About the self-harm, I know how hard you're trying, Ed. You've been doing it less and less since we made that contract with Dr. Hughes and you haven't set a fire in a couple weeks. I… I actually suspect the reason you're having so much trouble right now is because you're working so hard to stop doing the things I know you don't want to do. I'm really proud of you."

"You… you are?" I ask. I can't believe that. Daddy's… proud of me? That's all I want. I just want him to be proud of me and to love me. Maybe… maybe I already have that. Maybe I always have.

"I am," Dada repeats. "I am so proud of you. I love you so much."

"I… I love you, too, Daddy," I cry. "Th-That's all I w-want! I j-just w-want to be a good boy so y-you'll love me an' b-be proud of me!"

"You don't have to earn my love, little man," Dada says. "I've loved you way before you were born and I love you now. I have always loved you."

"C-Can you come g-get me now?" I sob. "I w-wanna come home now."

"I'm actually almost there," Dada tells me. "Just hold on a little longer, okay? I'll be there soon." I nod.

"Okay," I whimper.

"I'll see you very soon," Dada assures me. "Can I talk to Annie?" I nod and hand the phone back. Annie gets up and walks out of the room. I hate when grown-ups do that. When they have stuff that they don't say in front of me, it scares me. It makes it hard to trust them. What secrets are they keeping? I cross my arms, a kid walking passed the dinning room. He's younger than me. He stops and looks in the dining room.

"Who are you?" The kid asks.

"My name's Ed," I tell him. "I used to live here." The kid nods.

"You ran away from home, huh?" He asks. I blush, but I nod. "I'm Scott. Annie's a pretty great foster mom. Why'd you move?"

"I… well, uh, my brother an' me got to go live with our dad again," I explain. Scott crosses his arms.

"You're lucky," Scott tells me. "I haven't seen my dad in five years. That bastard doesn't care about me. Your dad does care." I blink.

"Your dad doesn't care about you?" I ask. Scott shakes his head.

"No," he replies sadly. "But yours does. If he didn't, the state probably wouldn't have let you go home with him. You're really lucky." I don't say anything. Scott walks away, Annie coming back in.

"You okay?" She asks. I nod.

"I met your foster kid," I tell her. "He says his dad doesn't want him." Annie nods, the doorbell ringing. "Daddy!" I run to the door and open it. Daddy wraps me up in his arms and gives me a hug, picking me up off the ground. I'm crying again. Dada's holding me tight and I feel safe. I'm sorry I was mean. I am. I love my daddy. I love him so, so much.

"I'm here now, little man," Dada says. "I've got you and I promise I won't let you go." I cling to him, Dada rubbing my back.

"He told me he's finally in therapy," Annie says from behind me. I glance back, Dada nodding.

"Yes," he replies, adjusting me. "I had a year to get them in but really wanted to get them in sooner. He finally told me he was ready a little before Thanksgiving. We saw a therapist before Dr. Hughes that week since Dr. Hughes was out for the holiday and that therapist just wasn't very good. I was worried he was going to tarnish therapy for them, but they agreed to try Dr. Hughes and I can already see a difference. He's an excellent therapist."

"I'm glad," Annie says. I rest my head on Dada's shoulder and Annie grins at me. "He's working very hard. I'm glad you guys found a therapist."

"I think Mrs. Davis will be happy we she hears me say that," Dada replies. "Thanks for keeping him safe. It means a lot to me."

"If you guys need anything before the visit, just let me know," Annie says. "The first couple visits are always the hardest to get through." Dada nods.

"Thanks, Annie," Dada tells her. "I'll see you around." Daddy carries me to the to car. I get in. I feel bad. I was such a bad boy. I'm scared that Dada hates me now. I'm scared he'll want to get rid of me tomorrow. Dada gets in and I squirm.

"D-Daddy?" I ask, whispering.

"What, honey?" Dada asks.

"I, um, uh… you're not a bastard," I tell him. "I'm sorry I called you that. I'm sorry I'm failing language arts. I'm sorry I was mean to Al an' I'm sorry I pushed Ling! Please don't tell Mrs. Davis an' give me up!"

"Ed, do you remember what Annie told you?" He asks. I nod.

"S-Sorta," I say. "I'm sc-scared."

"I know you are," Dada tells me. "I'm a little nervous, too, sweetie. Listen to me – Mrs. Davis is not going to take you and Alphonse away tomorrow. All she's going to do is talk to us and check on us to make sure we're doing okay. She might give us some more resources that can help as well, Ed. The last thing she'll do is separate us, I promise."

"B-But I'm doing bad things," I protest. "How could you still want me? I'm not a good son! I call you mean names an' do bad things! I'm s-sorry!"

"Ed, I'm your dad," he replies gently, making me feel a little less scared. "I will always, always love you. No matter what happens or what you do, I'll always love you. You're going through a hard time right now and I know that. We're going to get through it together because I love you."

"I love you, too, Daddy," I cry. "I'm happy you're my daddy."

"I'm happy you're my son," Dada tells me. I wipe my face.

"Wh-What about Al?" I whimper. Dada smiles at me.

"I'm happy he's my son, too," Dada replies. "I'm very proud to be your daddy." I sniffle.

"Can... Can we practice the home visit?" I ask. Dada frowns.

"How would you like to practice?" Dada asks. I squirm nervously.

"Um, c-can T-Teacher pretend to b-be Mrs. Davis?" I whisper.

"Oh, I understand," Dad says. "Izumi is still at our house. I'm sure she'd be willing to walk us through what tomorrow might be like." Dada drives to our house and parks. We get out of the car and go inside.

"We're home!" Dada calls. I hear footsteps and see Al hurrying into the kitchen. He hugs Dada before looking at me. He waves at me and I smile weakly at him.

"Are you okay?" I ask him. He nods, putting a thumb in his mouth.

"Hey, Ed," Teacher says. "I'm glad you're safe."

"Izumi, I don't want to keep you here, but Ed was wondering if you would be willing to do a mock home visit with us today," Dada tells her. Teacher nods.

"Sure, I can do that," Teacher replies. "Why don't I go outside and in a few minutes, I'll ring the doorbell. You'll let me in and we'll get started." Dada nods.

"Thank you so much," Dad says. Al hides behind Dada and Teacher leaves. What do we do now? "Why don't we go sit down?" Dada suggests. I shrug. I'm scared. Teacher can be tough. I look around. Our house is dirty. There's cobwebs and dust and books and toys and clothes everywhere. Is Teacher gonna talk about that? Will Mrs. Davis? I don't know and it's scary. We sit down, Al crawling up into Dad's lap. I sit next to them, picking at the skin on my hand. I know it's just Teacher pretending but I'm scared. Is she gonna be mean to Dada? Dada pats my head and I sigh. My hand hurts. The doorbell rings and I flinch. Oh no! It's time! Dada puts Al on the couch next to me and gets up. I watch him walk to the door and he opens it.

"Hello, Mrs. Davis," he says, pretending Teacher is really Mrs. Davis, "it's good to see you. Come on in." Dada sounds a little nervous even though it's just pretend. That makes me feel better. I'm nervous and scared, too. Daddy being nervous makes me feel better about being scared.

"Good to see you, Dr. Elric," Teacher replies. I peek over the couch and watch Teacher look around. She makes a face and I swallow. "Can you explain the state of your home?" Dada blinks. He looks surprised.

"Oh, um, uh…." Dada stumbles. "Well, I just… cleaning just hasn't been a priority, you know? I try to keep up with it, but the boys are more important." Teacher makes a face.

"So, they don't deserve to live in a clean home?" Teacher questions.

"Um, no, that's not what I meant," Dada says in a rush. This is bad. This is bad! If Teacher is this mean, what's gonna happen tomorrow?! "All I meant was that I'm less concerned with keeping the house clean when my boys need as much attention as they do."

"Balance is part of the deal, Dr. Elric," Teacher tells him. "Children need stability and need to live in an environment that is clean and can facilitate the stability they need. I'm worried you're caving under the pressure." Dada sighs.

"It hasn't been easy," he admits. "I fear I'm reaching my breaking point. I don't know what I'm doing or if I'm even helping." Dada chokes and he starts to cry.

"Daddy!" I cry, climbing over the couch. I run to him and give him a hug, glaring at Teacher. "You made him cry! I don't like this!"  
"Ed," Teacher says gently, "this is what tomorrow may be like."

"Then she's gonna take us away!" I cry. "I know it! The house is messy an' there's dishes everywhere an' Dada can't handle us anymore! What are we gonna do?" Dada's still crying, Al watching from the couch.

"Bug," Teacher says softly, "she's not going to take you away. She may seem like she's being mean or harsh, but she's only trying to help your daddy."

"H-He c-c-can't handle us!" I wail, clinging on to Daddy.

" _Shh_ ," Teacher tries, "it's okay. Maybe Daddy needs a break. Do you want to spend the night at my house?" I look up at her and then look at Dada. He's nodding. He _wants_ me and Al to go away. Bastard! _Bastard!_

"Th-Thank you, Izumi," Dada cries. "I need some sleep. Thank you."

"It's not a problem," Teacher replies and I let go of the bastard. I'm mad at him! How could he?! He doesn't want us! I knew it! _I knew it!_ "I don't want you to get so overwhelmed that you do or say something you regret. It's okay to need help and ask for it. It's okay to need a break from your kids. It doesn't mean you hate your kids, Victor. I know you feel guilty but it's okay." He nods and I cross my arms. Bastard. It _does_ mean he hates us. It has to! Al walks over and tugs on Dad's clothes.

"D-Daddy," he whispers. "Daddy. Pick me up."

"Not now, Al, okay?" Dad says, crying like a baby. "I'll give you a hug in a minute."  
"Bean," Teacher addresses, "sweetie, you're going to have a sleepover at my house tonight. Do you want to get some clothes together?" Al's lip trembles but he nods. He turns around and goes upstairs. "Ed, why don't you go with him? Get your things together."

"I don't wanna!" I yell.

"Edward," Teacher says softly, "your dad loves you but he's tired, okay? He needs a break. After school tomorrow, you'll come home with him, I promise."

"I don't care!" I cry. "I wanna stay here!"

"Ed," Teacher says, practically begging, "make this easy for us, bud. Go upstairs and get ready to go." I glare at her and stomp off. Dad's still crying. I don't care. He doesn't love us. I go upstairs and see Al messing with some clothes.

"Pack your diapers," I grumble, Al looking over at me. He looks hurt.

" _Hey_ ," he whines. "Th-That was mean."

"I don't care," I mutter angrily. "Just pack 'em." Al sniffles and I ignore him. I'm angry. I hate being forced to do stuff. And it hurts my feelings that Dad needs a break from us. It's mean! I don't need a break from Dad! I throw some clothes in my backpack. I'm mad. But my feelings are hurt, too. I glance back at Al. He's zipping his backpack up. He's got Chico. He doesn't even look at me as he leaves our room. I guess I was sorta mean to him. I didn't mean to be. I really didn't. I sigh. I'm mad at Dad, not Al. Al didn't do anything wrong. I put my backpack on and walk downstairs. Dad kisses Al's head and Teacher picks him up.

"You'll have fun with Teacher," Dad tells him. I cross my arms and stomp over. I'm mad at Dad. I'm so mad at him! He hears me and turns around. "Hey, little man."

"Shut up," I mumble, Dad bending over.

"Ed," he sighs, "honey, I just need a little alone time. I love you and Al very, very much. I think having a sleepover with Teacher will be good for you and Al. I'll pick you up after school tomorrow, I promise." I glare at him.

"Yeah, an' then you'll give me up when Mrs. Davis comes," I mutter. "Bastard." Dad sighs again and pats my head.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he tells me. "Love you both. Izumi, call me if there are any problems."

"I will," Teacher replies. I stomp over to her and she says, "But we'll be fine. They've slept over with Sig and I many times." Dad nods slightly.

"Yes, I know," he says. "I just worry. You know, they haven't had anything to eat yet and it's late. Make sure they get something to eat. And Ed might need help with his homework tonight. Oh, and make sure they get to bed on time. I don't want them up too late."

"Don't worry," Teacher assures him. "I've ordered pizza and Sig is picking it up as we speak. It'll be there when we get home. I'll help Ed with his homework until bedtime, I promise. They'll be fine." Why's Dad acting like he cares? What a bastard.

"Okay, okay," Dad says. "Just, call if anything happens. Thanks again." Teacher nods and we leave. I get in her car. Al looks sad. I know it's partially 'cause I was mean to him. Teacher drives to her house. We go inside. Sig is there and he's got the pizza. I'm sorta hungry but I think I'm too mad to eat. We go to the dining room. Teacher gives me juice and a piece of pizza. I don't wanna eat. Al's not eating, either. Teacher encourages us to try.

"No," I tell her. "I wanna go home."

"Ed," Sig says, "it's good for you to get out of the house once in a while."

"Yes," Teacher agrees. "You need to try to eat, okay?" I shake my head, crossing my arms.

"No," I say again. "I just wanna go home."

"Aren't you hungry?" Teacher asks me. I nod. I am a little hungry. But bad boys don't eat dinner. She should know that.

"I was bad," I tell her pathetically. "Bad boys don't eat dinner."

"You aren't a bad boy," Teacher tells me, Sig nodding. "You can eat if you're hungry. It's okay. You can both eat." I swallow hard and nibble on it. Al takes a bite but neither of us eat very much.

"Edward," Teacher says, "what homework do you have?" I shrug.

"Who cares?" I mumble.

"I do," Teacher replies, "and your daddy does." I squirm.

"He doesn't care," I spit angrily. "He doesn't care about us at all."

"You know that's not true," Teacher tells me. "It's okay to need to be by yourself sometimes. You told me you don't want to fail classes anymore. Let me help you, okay?" My throat feels tight. I _don't_ wanna fail my classes anymore. _She_ called me stupid a lot. I don't want that to be true.

"O-Okay," I croak, sniffling. "Will you help me?" Teacher nods.

"Of course I will."

Teacher helps me with my homework. I have a lot since I don't always do mine. She helps me with all of it. It's getting really close to bedtime and I'm sleepy. Teacher tells me to take a quick shower and go to bed. Al's getting ready for bed. I told him I was sorry for being mean to him. He didn't say anything. He never says anything anymore. He told me with his eyes, though, that he wasn't mad at me. I'm glad. I love him and I don't want him to be mad at me. I don't wanna hurt him. I take a short shower, go potty, and brush my teeth. Al's in bed already, but Teacher comes in to tuck me in. She pets my hair and talks softly to me. She always does when I spend the night. I'm scared of sleeping when it's not at my house. I'm mad at Dad right now, but he always makes me feel safe after I have a bad dream and he never makes fun of me or gets me in trouble when I have an accident. I sniffle. I miss him. I wanna go home. I rub my eyes, Teacher wishing me a good night. I nod and she leaves. I sit up and look over at Al. I wanna sleep with him. I get out of bed and go to his. I get in, Al moaning a little. I hug him and he goes right back to sleep. I lay down really close to him, missing Dada as I go to sleep.

I'm in my house. It's morning, I think. I sit up, rubbing my eyes. Where's Dada? I put my leg on and get up. Al's not in bed. I think he's downstairs. He's gotta be. It's time to go to school almost. I try to get dressed but all of my clothes are missing. That's weird. That's when I realize I'm soaking wet. Uh-oh. I must of had an accident in bed. Now I really need to find Dada. He'll make it all better. I walk out of my room and downstairs. I call for Dada but he doesn't answer. Where is he? Where is Al? I walk into the living room and see suitcases. My brow furrows. Some of them have my name on them. What's going on? Are we going on a trip? Dada never takes us with him on his trips. I'm confused and it's a little scary. I go to the kitchen. Dada's at the counter drinking coffee like he always is.

"Dada," I say, Dada looking over at me. He frowns and I squirm. "Uh, what's going on?"

"I was about to wake you up," he tells me. His voice doesn't sound right. He doesn't sound like Dada for some reason. I'm scared. "You need to go now." My brow furrows.

"G-Go where?" I ask. I'm really scared.

"You're so stupid," Dad sighs and my eyes widen. Dada's never called me stupid before! What's going on? "I don't want you anymore and you have to go. You're all packed."

"Y-You… You don't want me?" I ask, starting to cry. "Why?!"

"Why?" Dada questions harshly. "I've reached my breaking point, Ed. I can't handle it anymore. You need to get out of my house. I don't want a boy who sets fires and yells at me and pees in his pants as a son."

"B-But I'm trying to be good!" I tell him. "I really am! Don't give me up!"

"I don't want you anymore," Dada says again. I wrap my arms around my tummy and sob.

"No!" I yell, sobbing. "No, please! Give me another chance! I c-can be a g-g-good boy! I p-promise!"

"It's too late!" Dada yells back. He's angry. "I don't want you anymore! You're a bad boy! You're a bad boy! I hate you!" I blink and look at him.

"Daddy," I whimper. "No, Daddy. Don't hate me."

"You heard him, shit head." I freeze. What's _she_ doing here?! I feel _her_ grab my hair and I scream. Dada ignores me and continues to drink his coffee. "I told you he hated you." _She_ starts to drag me away. I don't fight _her_. What's the point? Daddy hates me. He thinks I'm a bad boy after all and doesn't want me anymore. _She_ drags me to the basement and ties me up. Now I'm crying for Daddy. I don't want her to hit me! _She_ grabs a knife and starts to stab me. I think I'm dying.

"You're worthless," _she_ tells me. "And now your father finally thinks so, too." Dada's watching _her_ do this to me. It hurts so bad! I look at him and beg,

"Daddy, please! Help me! I-I'm s-s-sorry! I'll b-b-be g-good! M-Make her stop!" Dad shakes his head.

"You're not my son. I hate you. I want you to get out of my life and Vanessa promised me _she'd_ make that happen." I shake my head.

" _She's_ gonna kill me!" I cry. I'm so scared!

"That's all I've wanted since the day you were born." I blink and _she_ just laughs at me. The knife comes closer and stabs me, my body jerking upward in bed. I gasp loudly and sit up. I'm freaking out. It's hard to breathe! Why can't I breathe?! I scoot back in bed, screaming and whimpering. Where is _she_?! _She's_ gonna kill me! Where's Daddy?!

" _D-Daddy!_ " I scream, crying. My chest hurts! I can't breathe! I'm scared! Where am I? " _Daddy!_ Wh-Where are you?!" I feel someone move. I scream again and start kicking. Who is that?! What's going on!?

"Brother." I stop kicking. It's Al! I look around and see him. He's sitting next to me. He looks worried. I start sobbing, Al rubbing my back. I'm wet. I peed in my bed again! What's gonna happen to me?! Is _she_ gonna find me?

"Wh-Where's Daddy?!" I wail, Al patting my back. Does Daddy really hate me? Was that just my dream? I don't know! _I don't know!_

"At… At home," Al tells me softly. "We're spending the night with Teacher." Teacher? I remember. Dada's reached his breaking point. He needed a break. And I was mean to him again! I think maybe he does hate me!

"Boys," Teacher says, walking into our room. "What's going on?" I keep crying, Al just patting my back. I feel Teacher sit down on the bed and ask, "Did he have a bad dream, Al?" Al nods.

"Y-Yes," I hear Al whisper. I feel someone else touch me. That's scary. Who's touching me? My body gets tense. I'm scared! I glance over and see it's Teacher touching me. I relax. She's safe. I'm safe.

"Want to talk about your dream, Ed?" Teacher asks softly.

"I-I…." I don't know what to say. I'm still scared. "I dreamed my daddy hated me."

"That sounds awful," Teacher replies, cuddling me close. I start sobbing again. It was a terrible dream!

"I-Is it t-true?" I cry loudly. "D-Does D-D-Daddy hate m-me?"

"Of course not," Teacher comforts gently. "Your daddy doesn't hate you, Bug. He loves you very, very much. It was just a bad dream, sweetie." I keep crying. I cry and cry, Teacher pulling me up in her lap. Why does she care so much about me? I'm just a bad, dirty boy! Why does she care? Why does anyone? I don't understand. Teacher stands up and takes me with her. She carries me and starts walking. I cry until no more tears come out and it hurts. I'm getting sleepy. My eyes burn. Teacher helps me get dressed and carries me to her room. Al's there. We both lay in between Teacher and Sig and I fall asleep, Al hugging me tight.

I try to be a good boy today. I really do. I turn in my homework and listen to my teachers. I don't yell or push my friends. I pay attention in all my classes and one of my teachers praises me for my behavior. That makes me feel special and good. They give me a note at the end of class. It's for my dad. I wanna read what it says, but I don't. It's for Daddy. I shouldn't read it. I gotta go to my locker and then go outside. It's time to go home. I'm nervous. Mrs. Davis is coming over after school for the home visit. I don't wanna get taken away again! Teacher said that wouldn't happen. So did Sig and Dada. But I'm scared. I go to my locker. I open it but don't do anything. I forgot what I need to get. That's been happening to me lately. I forget stuff a lot. I gotta write stuff down in a notebook otherwise I'll forget. I take out my notebook and look at today's page. I need my library book 'cause I gotta read three chapters tonight for class. I also need my math book. I grab that stuff and put it in my backpack. I close my locker and walk outside. I look around for Dada's car. He isn't here yet. I swallow. Does… does that mean he's not gonna come?

"Ed!" I turn around. Winry's walking over to me. I wave at her and she smiles at me.

"Hi," I say softly.

"D'you wanna come over for dinner?" Winry asks me.

"Tonight?" I ask. Winry nods.

"Yeah," she answers. "It's been a while and Granny was thinking you guys needed some real food. She knows all Uncle Vic can cook is canned soup, mac and cheese, and grilled cheese sandwiches." I look over at the car lane. Dada still isn't here.

"I'll ask Dada," I tell her. "We have a home visit with Mrs. Davis today." Winry makes a face.

"Home visit?" She asks. "What's that?" I shrug.

"I… I don't really know," I tell her honestly. "It's sorta scary. I th-think… I think sh-she's coming to check on us. She visited when we got home over the summer and now, she's visiting again. I don't really know why and that's why it's scary."

"Weird," Winry comments. "Um… Mrs. Davis… she's the one who took you and Al away, right?" I nod.

"Yes," I whisper.

"That is sorta scary," Winry agrees. "Can she…. Could she do that again?" I nod again.

"I think so," I reply. "If she thinks my house isn't safe, I guess she would. I'm scared."

"Well," Winry begins, putting some hair behind her ear, "I think your house is safe and that Uncle Victor is a good dad. Maybe… maybe you should tell her how you feel about your dad. Tell her that you love him and he's safe and stuff."

"I guess," I say. I look over and Dada's car is here. "I gotta go. Dada will text Granny if we're gonna come over."

"Bye," Winry says. "Good luck." I wave and hurry to Dada's car. I get in. Al's in the backseat.

"Hey, little man," Dada greets. "How was school?"

"Uh, good," I answer. I'm nervous. "I did my best to have a good day. I listened to my teachers all day and my last hour teacher gave me a note for you." I dig around for it and hand it to him.

"Honey, I can't read this right now," Dada tells me. "I'm driving." I hang my head.

"Oh," I say softly.

"Why don't you read it to me?" Dada offers. I perk up.

"Okay," I agree. I like this. I wanna know what it says. I unfold it and read;

"Mr. Elric, I just wanted to write you a little something regarding Edward. I have been concerned all school year about him. He's seemed very withdrawn and unwilling to put forth any effort in not only my class, but any of his classes. I realize there's been some extremely unfortunate and stressful situations in your lives that have really hindered his ability to preform at his best. But today, I noticed some real intrigue and effort from him today. He took notes and even participated in class. I haven't seen him do either this semester but have heard from his previous teachers what a bright and charismatic boy your son can be. It gave me great joy today that I finally got to see a glimpse of that boy and to see your son work at his best. It is my hope that I see that more and more as the school year goes forward and that this note is an encouragement to you. Mrs. Park, your son's history teacher." I don't know what to say now. Why did Mrs. Park say such nice things about me? I don't understand. At least it wasn't anything bad.

"How kind of her," Dada says. It sounds like he might cry. "I'm so happy you had a good day today, Ed. I'm very proud of you." I smile a little.

"Really?" I ask. Dada nods.

"Really," he repeats. I squirm a little.

"Did you…. Do you… feel better now?" I ask. I hope Dada feels better now. I know he's tired and it's my fault. I keep him up at night. I feel bad about that.

"I do," Daddy answers. "But, to tell the truth, I missed you and Alphonse a lot last night, so much that I called Izumi. I wanted her to bring you boys home, but she told me I needed to sleep so I can take care of you two the best I can. I suppose she's right, but I couldn't help but feel guilty. I don't know. Long story short, yes, I feel better but I'm not sure how I feel about it." I blink.

"You wanted us to come home?" I ask. I'm confused. Why would Dada want me and Al, the reason he never sleeps, to come home? Why would he want _me_ to come home? I'm nothing but a bad boy. I do bad things. Why would he want me? Why? Dad nods.

"I did," Dada replies. I don't say anything. Dada drives to our house and parks in the garage. We get out of the car and go to the living room.

"When's she getting here?" I ask.

"Who?" Dada asks. "Mrs. Davis?" I nod. "Oh, um, it won't be long now. She told me three forty-five."

"Okay," I say quietly. I'm scared. "Can we go to Winry's for dinner?" Dada nods.

"Sure," he answers. I look over at Al. He looks pale. I bet he's scared. I know I am. Al doesn't talk anymore, though, so he won't say if he's scared. But I know he is. I can tell. I know Al.

"I'm scared, Dada," I whisper. Dada looks at me.

"I'm nervous, too," he tells me. "But it'll be okay. She's just checking on us. It's only been a few months since you left foster care, so I doubt she expects everything to be peachy here." I stare at my lap, Dada pulling his phone out. I guess he's texting Granny. It's too quiet.

"Can we turn the TV on?" I ask. I don't care what we watch. It's just too quiet. Dad nods and turns it on. I look up. It's _Judge Judy_. That's a funny show. But I'm not watching. I'm too scared. The doorbell rings and I jump. She's here! Dada pats my head and gets up. He gets the door and I hear him say,

"Hi, come on in, Mrs. Davis."

"You can call me Candice, Victor," Mrs. Davis replies. I turn around on the couch and peek over. I wanna see. She's looking around, the same way Teacher did yesterday when we were pretending.

"Oh, I, um," Dada stutters. He's scared, too.

"So, what seems to be your biggest struggle with keeping a clean home?" Mrs. Davis asks him. My heart beats funny. How did Teacher know Mrs. Davis would ask about it?!

"I… well, I, um…." Dada trails off. He glances over at me, his face going white. I blink. He's so scared. "I apologize. I realize keeping a clean home is important, but it always gets pushed aside. I, uh, don't get much sleep and I work full time on top of being a single dad and while I have people willing to help out and they have, but they have lives, too. The boys are most important and I'm sure that's not a good enough answer for the state of the house but… I'm trying. I want you to know I'm trying." Mrs. Davis nods and writes on a clipboard. What is she writing? I wanna know.

"You seem nervous," she comments. "There's no need to be, Victor. These home visits are going to be a part of your life for a long time, possibly the rest of the time your sons live with you. All they are is a way for me to check in and see how you all are doing. It's not a test or an evaluation." Dad doesn't say anything, so Mrs. Davis looks over at me. I gulp and she says, "Edward, sweetie, why don't you come over here for a second?" I nod and slowly get off the couch. Al watches as I walk over. I'm shaking. What does she want?

"Um," I say nervously.

"It's all right, sweetie pie," Mrs. Davis tells me. "I just want you to tell me a little bit about how you're doing. Can you do that?" I blink. Earlier, Winry suggested that I tell Mrs. Davis how I feel about Dada. Maybe if I do, she'll know Dad really is trying and that she doesn't hafta take me and Al away.

"Well," I start, my voice shaking, "um… I'm not doing good. I'm mad a lot and when I'm not mad, I'm sad or I'm scared. I'm… I'm doing bad things. I'm trying to stop, but I can't. I'm not doing so good in school and it makes me really sad. I get scared that Dad… that Daddy will give me up. I get scared that he'll start to hate me. Sometimes, I call him a bastard and I think everything is his fault. Sometimes, I really feel like he is a bastard. But…." I swallow, Dada looking at me.

"Thank you for being honest with me," Mrs. Davis says. I look at her. I wasn't done! I have more to say! "I understand your fears, Ed. They come from a very real place."

"Yeah, but I'm not done!" I cry frantically. "Dada… Daddy's never been mean, not once! He lets me sleep in his bed and cuddle with him on the couch. He does his best to cook for me an' Al, does his best to keep our clothes and our house clean. He talks soft and gentle and slow when I'm scared. He helps me take care of Al and he's really good with Al, too! Al doesn't say much anymore but Dada is patient with him! Al doesn't eat or take care of himself like he should, but Daddy never gets mad. He understands, I think, or maybe he doesn't but he's always nice! He's not mad at me when I do bad things. I love my daddy. Please don't take us away from him again!" I'm crying. Mrs. Davis squats down and puts a hand on my shoulder. It's hard to breathe.

"Hey," she says softly, "it's okay. It's okay. Edward, it's all right to be afraid. It is. Your father understands why you are. I know you can't make sense of all your feelings and that's okay. It's okay to be angry and blame your father sometimes. That's okay. But I know that your father is good to you. I know he's a good daddy who's doing everything he can to help and take care of you and your little brother. A dirty house or bad grades or upset feelings isn't going to separate you and your daddy. Your daddy loves you and you love him." I nod, crying like a baby.

"Y-Yeah," I cry.

"Um," Al says softly from the living room. I look over, Al climbing off the couch and walking over. "Can… can I say something?" Mrs. Davis smiles at him and nods.

"Of course you can," she encourages. I wipe my face and Al shifts nervously.

"I don't feel safe," Al says in a whisper. "I mean, I didn't for a long time. And I still don't a lot, Mrs. Davis. Daddy makes me feel safe." Mrs. Davis nods.

"That's good," she says warmly. I sniffle and go to Al. I give him a hug and look at Mrs. Davis. "Everything's all right, boys. No one's going anywhere." I think… I think I actually believe her.

I love my dad. I might do some bad things that break his heart. I might call him mean names and yell at him. I might call him a bastard and say I hate him and blame him for everything that happened to me. But he's my daddy. He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel loved. He makes me feel special. Even when I'm mean or bad, Dada is never mean back. Dada tells stupid jokes and plays his violin for me and Al sometimes. Daddy cuddles us and tucks us in at night. He plays with us and makes us food. His beard tickles my face when he gives me kisses and he teaches me stuff. My dad is a good dad and I'm glad he's my daddy. I wanna be just like him when I grow up. He does a lot for me and Al and hasn't given up on us. That is good 'cause I love him. I love my daddy so much and now…. Well, I think I know for sure that my daddy loves me, too.


	9. Chapter 9: Forgiveness

_Forgiving what we cannot forgive creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future. - Lewis Smedes_

* * *

Every Saturday around 1:00, a weird number calls the house phone. I think it's a robo call and it's trying to sell newspapers or something. Weird thing is, though, Dada always answers it. Maybe he's telling them to stop calling and it's a variation of the number every week. But, like, these calls have been happening for over a year. It's weird and Dada never tells us who called. I guess that means it's a robo call. I don't know. I don't know why Dad hasn't put our house phone on the no call list yet. Well, maybe he has. I've heard that those robot calls have gotten smarter and can call people on no call lists. That's why there's been so many scams and shit lately. I don't think my dad would fall for a scam now, but when he's old he probably will. Since Papa has Alzheimer's, Dada's probably gonna get it, too. I don't like thinking about that, though, especially since Papa's slowly getting worse. This summer has basically been one horrible thing after another. Al got super sick in May and lost half a kidney and he's still not better yet. Then, right before we left for Disney World (that's the one good thing that's happened this summer), Dada got a call from the nursing home Papa lives in. Apparently, his Alzheimer's is getting a lot worse. He's wandering more and has had some bad behaviors. It's scary and sorta sad, too. I'm just now starting to really bond with him but if his Alzheimer's is getting worse, he's gonna forget about me. I don't want him to forget about me and Al. He and Nana Elric are my only living grandparents. I want them to be alive for a long time and if Papa's Alzheimer's is getting worse, his time is gonna run out.

Dada's going on a trip to Chicago this week after the Fourth of July. Since Al's sick again, he hasn't wanted to leave us, but he has to. This trip has been planned since, like, March so he's gotta go. Lucy's gonna spend the week with us when Dada leaves. That's good 'cause I like her and wanna get to know her better, especially since she and Dada got engaged in Disney World a couple weeks ago. Plus, I need her help to take care of Al. Not only does he have bronchitis and a UTI, he has to wear Pull-Ups all the time right now. He coded after surgery and is still recovering from a brain injury that makes it hard for him to know when he's gotta or has already gone pee. He gets super upset and while I usually can calm him down, sometimes I need back up. Because of all of that shit that's happened and is still happening, Al's not talking much anymore. It's not bad place bad, but I get scared that it will get that bad if things don't start getting better. What really pisses me off, though, is before the Hannah shit and before he got super sick, he was talking more and laughing and smiling and making jokes. He was really starting to get better and then all this stuff started and he's, like, at a stand-still. Not that I blame him. He almost died over the summer and still hasn't recovered from that. So, I try to just treat him like normal and not like he's fragile, despite him being weaker and stuff. I try to pretend nothing's wrong and that seems to make Al feel better. Al and I are hanging out in the living room, playing video games, and Dada walks in.

"Hey, boys," he greets. "I have an appointment to get my oil changed. It shouldn't take long, so will you two be okay alone for about an hour or do you want to join me?" Al looks over at me. He tells me with his eyes that he really doesn't want Dada to leave but doesn't wanna go out in public right now (he never does 'cause of what's going on with him). So, he says he wants to stay home with me, and I nod.

"I think we'll be okay here for an hour," I tell him. Dada smiles and kisses both of us.

"Okay," Dad says, smiling. "I'll be back soon. Call me if you need me. Love you."

"Love you, too," we say in unison. Dad leaves and we keep playing, the phone ringing. I sigh and get up, looking at the number. It's that weird number and I decline the call. I start to walk back to the couch when the phone rings again. My brow furrows and I pick up the phone, the same number calling. That was quick. Is it important? I don't know. What should I do? I guess if it is a telemarketer or something I can just hang up. I stare for a second before deciding to answer it.

"Hello?" I ask.

"This call is from an Illinois state penitentiary," a robot voice tells me. My heart beats weird, my breathing getting fast as an all too familiar voice fills my ears, "Hi, Victor. How are you?" I start sweating, my whole body shaking. What the actual fuck?! Why is _she_ calling?!

"Wh-Why are you calling?!" I demand and _she_ gasps.

"Ed... _Edward?_ " She questions.

"Why are you calling?!" I yell.

"Edward, you sound so grown up," _she_ comments and I hang up. I'm pissed and freaked out. Why is _she_ calling?! _She_ shouldn't be allowed to call us!

"Brother?" Al calls from the living room. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

"Shut up!" I scream, pulling out my phone and calling Dada.

"Hey, Ed, is everything –" he answers and I start yelling,

"Do you know who the fuck just called here?! It was _her_! What the fuck, Dad?! You bastard! How could you do that to us?! To Lucy?!"

"Edward, calm down," Dada tells me. How can he ask me to do that?!

"How often does _she_ call?!" I demand. "Is it every week, you bastard?!"

"Edward, please," Dada begs. "I need you to breathe and calm down."

"Fuck you!" I yell, hanging up. I throw my phone and scream wordlessly. The floor creaks behind me and I turn angrily on my heel. Al's standing timidly behind me. I glare at him and he flinches.

"S-Sorry," he stutters. I feel like an angry thirteen-year-old kid right now. I approach him angrily and he stumbles away from me. I'm so pissed! I know it's not Al's fault, but he's the only one here and he's gonna know what I'm angry about.

"You know who just fucking called the house phone?" I ask him angrily. Al timidly shakes his head, his whole body shaking.

"N-No," he whimpers, backing up into the wall. I stand in front of him, heaving, and yell,

"It was _her_! I think that bastard talks to _her_ every week!" Al's eyes widen and fill with tears.

"But... but Daddy wouldn't do that," Al says, standing up for Dad like the big daddy's boy he is. _God!_

"You're such an idiot!" I scream at him, Al recoiling. "Of course he would! He always sides with _her_! He always believes _her_! He loves _her_ more than us! You're an idiot if you believe otherwise!"

"Stop yelling at me," Al begs, starting to cry. He coughs and says, "Please stop yelling at me!"

"Shut up!" I yell, my phone vibrating. I ignore it, Al hiding his face in his hands and crying. "It's your fault! It's all your fault!" Al's sobbing and I push him over. He falls and looks up at me, scooting away.

"I'm s-sorry," he cries. "I d-didn't m-mean to."

"I don't fucking care!" I roar, Al covering his ears. I smell piss and I make a face. "Oh, what a surprise! You pissed yourself again! God damn it, Al! What's the matter with you?!" Al looks up at me and shakes his head.

"What's the matter with me?" He cries. He shakily stands up and pushes me back. "What's the matter with _me?!_ " He yells. "What's the matter with _you?!_ Dr. Hughes says the abuse isn't my fault and I believe him! I didn't do anything wrong!" I blink, Al pushing me again. "Stop yelling at me! It's not my fault! It's not my fault!" He punches my chest, over and over, repeating himself until he goes hoarse. He falls to his knees, sobbing, and takes my hand. He's still repeating that it's not his fault and I feel like complete shit. I hate that I take my anger out on people who don't deserve it, especially Al. I can't believe how mean I was to him. I squat down and squeeze his hand. I pet his hair with my free hand and I gently say,

"You're right. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I was angry and scared and I took that out on you. That was wrong and I'm sorry. It's not your fault." Al looks up at me, tears running down his face.

"It's not my fault," he sobs. "It's not my fault."

" _Shh_ ," I comfort, pulling him into a hug, "it's not your fault. I know, Alphie, I know. I'm so sorry. It's not your fault. I'm sorry." Al wraps his shaking limbs around me and wails loudly. He lowers his face into my shoulder and cries.

"I'm sorry," he wails. I can tell his throat hurts, so I say,

" _Shh_ , it's okay. You're okay. I've got you." I hold him close, my anger becoming guilt, shame, and sadness. I can't believe how mean I was. It's not his fault _she_ calls us. It's not his fault Dad, for whatever reason, lets _her_. The abuse isn't his fault. Wetting his pants isn't his fault. He didn't do anything wrong. I should have taken a time out. I feel horrible. My phone's vibrating again. I bet it's Dada. _God_ , he's probably so mad at me.

"Alphie, I need to talk to Dada," I tell him gently. "You gotta let go."

" _No_ ," Al whines.

"I'll stay right next to you but I gotta talk to him," I insist. I feel Al nod and he lets go. He hugs his knees to his chest and watches me take my phone out and answer; "Hi, Dada."

"Ed," Dad says and I expect to get lectured over the phone for my attitude or language or something. But instead, Dada says, "I'm so sorry." I blink.

"Wait, what?" I ask. That doesn't make any sense. I was bad. Why did he say sorry?

"I should have told you," he goes on, tears in his voice. "I just didn't think you were ready. But I'll tell you everything when I get home so Al can hear, too. I just wanted to apologize to you."

"Dada, I gotta apologize, too," I tell him shamefully. "After I hung up on you, I was really mad. I know I should have taken a time out, but I didn't and was really mean to Al. I'm sorry."

"Did you boys make up?" Dada asks.

"Yes," I say quietly. "I'm still sorry."

"I know you are," Dad says. "I'll be home soon, and we'll talk, okay?" I nod.

"Okay," I agree.

"I love you," Dada says.

"Love you, too." I hang up. I don't understand why Dada would talk to _her_. I don't understand. Doesn't he know how bad that hurts? He can't keep our abuser in our lives! He promised he wouldn't! I just don't understand. It doesn't make any sense. But I'm gonna try to be like Al and give Dada the benefit of the doubt. Let him explain himself. I guess it's only fair.

"Dada will be home soon," I tell Al. "You should go change." Al nods and stands up.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes meekly.

"Don't be," I say. "You were standing up for yourself. It was actually really awesome." I chuckle weakly and say, "You let me have it. You shouldn't let people talk to you that way, Al, not even me. I'm proud of you." Al smiles weakly.

"Thanks," he replies.

"Go change," I instruct. "When Dad gets here, he's gonna explain why _she_ calls us every week." Al nods and goes upstairs. I walk over to the living room and flop on the couch. I sigh and hang my head. That's the first time in a while I've exploded at Al like that. I'm pissed at myself that I did it. I've been trying so hard and doing so good. It's just hearing _her_ voice set something off in me. It triggered me and sent me right back to a dark place. I never expected to hear _her_ voice ever again. It still makes the little hairs on the back of it neck stand up. It still freezes my muscles and makes my heart beat so fast I think it's gonna explode. _Her_ voice still has power over me. _She_ still has power over me. And that's a terrible thing to realize.

I really thought that after three years that _she_ no longer had power over me. But it's not true. Three whole years after _she_ got arrested and was out of my life, _she_ just has to say a few words and I'm a wreck. I'm being mean to Al and yelling at Dada. That's all it takes. Sure, thinking about _her_ doesn't do that very often to me anymore, but hearing _her_ voice is a totally different story. It makes me think about October third, the day of _her_ sentencing. _Her_ trial lasted three days. On the third day, Al and I had to testify against _her_ and then _she_ got sentenced. We hadn't seen _her_ since _she_ got arrested until the trial. And, for the most part, we didn't have to look at _her_ until we had to testify. Hearing _her_ voice, though, that first day was horrifying. I remember sitting there that first day and my blood going cold when _she_ testified. And then, the day I had to testify, I looked _her_ in the eye. I was terrified. I brought Lamby to the stand with me 'cause I was scared and _she_ looked right at me. I remember _her_ smirking at me and how much that scared me. It didn't matter how long it had been since _she_ had beaten us or how long it had been since _she_ locked me up or hit me with the chain. _She_ still had power over me. Just one look was capable of scaring me shitless. The same thing happened to Al. I remember that _she_ even heckled him while he was on the stand. It was horrible. That combined with everything else is why I just can't comprehend why in the world Dada would even consider talking to _her._ It just doesn't make sense. Al comes back in and I sit up. He sits next to me and sighs, resting his head on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry I hit you," Al whispers. I sigh and pat his head.

"It's okay," I assure him. "I deserved it, you know." Al sits up suddenly and makes a face at me.

"Don't say that," he tells me. "You don't deserve to be hit, not ever. No one does." I smile fondly at him. God, I love him. Al's such a good kid. I wish I could be more like him. I wish everyone could be more like him. I think the world would be a better place if more people were like Al. I hear the kitchen door open. Dada's home. He sets his keys on the counter he always puts them on and walks into the living room. I watch him walk over to us and sit down on the coffee table across from us. He sighs and puts his face in his hands before running his hands over his hair.

"I don't even know where to start," Dada tells us, his voice strained. "This whole situation is so complex and weird and almost gross."

"Just… why?" I ask miserably, sniffling. My throat is getting tight and I wanna cry. "Why would you even answer? I don't understand."

"Edward, it's really complex but all I can say is I loved _her_ ," Dada explains with a sigh. "For the first few years of our marriage, I truly loved _her,_ and those feelings were dulled but never went away when we began having issues with each other. When I learned what _she_ was doing to you boys behind my back, I was furious. I was certain I hated _her_. How could I not? As a father, I feel you have a duty to dislike or even hate people who hurt your children. I think it's only natural. But you boys should know better than anyone that our feelings are rarely so simple. I've come to realize the last couple years that it's possible to love and hate someone at the same time. That's how I feel about _her_. All of our worlds came crashing down the day _she_ was arrested and despite how angry I was and how much I hated _her_ , the feelings of love and affection were still there." I shift on the couch. Dada still loves _her_?

Well, I guess it sorta makes sense. You can't help how you feel. And I do believe that it's possible to love and hate people at the same time. Thing is, though, when I think about loving and hating people at the same time, I think about getting in fights with Dada. Sometimes when I'm angry and upset and blame Dad for everything that has gone wrong in my life, I hate him. I hate him in those moments with my whole heart. But, when the anger goes away, so does the hate. The love always wins out. I guess I never thought about the conflict Dada would have with _her_. It's gotta be confusing and hard and shitty to make sense of all those feelings that conflict and twist up inside. But, at the end of the day, I guess I always thought it'd be the opposite with him. When I hate and love someone at the same time, the hate always goes away because I actually love whoever I "hate". It's almost like the hate isn't real. It's fleeting. It's a blip on the radar. For Dada, I guess I always thought that when it came to _her_ , that the love feelings would be his blip on the radar. That loving her would be that fleeting thought in the middle of the night when he's mourning everything he's lost. But, when that feeling faded, he'd remember everything _she_ did to Al and me and he'd hate _her_ again with his whole heart. To learn that isn't the case is confusing and shocking and I don't know how to feel about it.

"So, do you love _her_ now or not?" I ask, almost demanding. I need to know.

"It's difficult to explain," Dada tells me. "Most of the time, no. I'm in love with Lucy and it's the happiest I've been in years in that regard. But, sort of like with Mom, it's a different type of love almost. It's like…." He trails off, licking his lips and hanging his head. "I'm sorry, boys. I know this can't be easy to talk about and I'm sure it's frustrating that I can't articulate my feelings the way you need me to. I'm sorry. I don't love _her_ 99% of the time but there's moments where those feelings come rushing back and I miss and love _her_."

"When… when did s _he_ start calling?" Al asks softly. Al isn't talking all that much right now. Being sick all summer and all the stress he's been under with the accidents and Hannah shit has been hard on him. When things are hard, Al tends to retreat into silence and it's scary. It reminds me of his bad place. But I guess he needs answers just as much as I do. No, I know he does.

"A little over a year ago," Dada explains. "The first time _she_ called, I didn't recognize the number, so I ignored it. But _she_ just kept calling. That day, _she_ called three more times before giving up. That next Saturday, _she_ called another three times. The third Saturday after _she_ began calling, I finally gave in and answered. As soon as I heard where the call was coming from, I hung up. I didn't want to talk to _her_ at all. I was so angry that _she_ had the audacity to call at all after everything _she_ had put our family through. I had no intention to talk to _her_ , no matter how many times _she_ called." I lean forward a little.

"What changed?" I ask.

"After about a month or two of _her_ just calling multiple times a day every weekend, I decided to chew _her_ out over the phone," Dad tells us. "I was going to let _her_ know _she_ has no business calling here and bothering us. I answered that first call that day and began the rant I had prepared in my head."

"What did you tell _her_?" I question, curious.

"Oh, it wasn't nice," Dad chuckles weakly. "I believe I said something to the effect of, 'What could have possibly possessed you to delude you into thinking it was remotely okay to call me? Have you completely forgotten what happened three years ago? Did you think _I_ forgot what you did to my sons?! I haven't and if you call again, I'll contact the penitentiary and tell them you're harassing us. Stop calling this number!'" Dada sighs a little, cleans his glasses, and continues; "I was breathing deeply, about to hang up, when I heard _her_ meekly say, 'All I wanted was to apologize.' As you boys can imagine, I was dumbfounded. I couldn't believe it. At the trial, s _he_ was so smug and arrogant and showed absolutely no remorse for what _she_ put you boys through. I honestly believed _she_ never would feel badly. I couldn't believe that after a short year and a half in prison that _she_ had done a one-eighty and actually felt bad. I couldn't even say anything to _her_. I just hung up. I didn't talk to _her_ again for about a month."

"Why did you talk to _her_ again?" I ask, still confused. "I just don't understand, Dada. I don't believe that _she_ actually feels bad. How could I?"

"That's how I felt for a month, Ed," Dada replies. "But I couldn't get _her_ voice out of my head. There was a… sincerity to _her_ voice, almost like a little kid. It was on my mind constantly, so I decided after a month of mulling it over, that I would give _her_ a chance to explain _herself_ , and perhaps prove to me somehow that _she_ actually meant what _she_ said. That Saturday, I answered the call. I told _her_ to explain _herself_. _She_ began to say that there was an emptiness inside of _her_ and no matter what _she_ did, _she_ felt it all the time. It took time, but _she_ began to realize that regret was part of it. _She_ had begun to realize the terrible wrong _she_ had committed and was actually beginning to feel badly about it. _She_ told me _she_ wanted to tell me how horribly sorry _she_ was and that _she_ had no business doing what _she_ did. _She_ had finally learned that hitting a child is never acceptable, period. I was shocked. I honestly still couldn't believe it. But what _she_ said next somehow shocked me further. _She_ asked for my forgiveness."

"Really?" I scoff. " _She_ thought that feeding you some sob story about how being in prison was what finally taught _her_ that abusing kids is wrong would make you want to forgive _her_? _Seriously?_ " Manipulative as always, I see. _She's_ an expert at manipulating everyone around _her_. That's how _she_ managed to hide the abuse for so long.

"Well, that's what I thought at first," Dada tells me. "I figured it was a manipulation tactic and told _her_ thank you, but I would need to pray and think about whether or not I was willing to forgive at that moment in my life or not. We didn't talk for about another month. I was thinking hard on whether or not _she_ was just trying to manipulate me like _she_ had when _she_ was abusing you boys. And then it dawned on me; why would _she_ manipulate me from prison? What good did it do? How did that benefit _her_? The more I thought about that, the less it made sense. I knew I was never going to have contact with _her_ ever again. I never wanted to see _her_ again and that's still the case. I don't want to be _her_ friend and _she_ knows _she_ can never come back here again. I concluded that there was no reason for _her_ to be manipulative and that _she_ was genuine, even if it was superficial. Plus, my dealing with guilt class mentioned that forgiveness isn't for the benefit of the person who wronged you. Forgiveness is for the benefit of _you_. You forgive so that you can work passed the pain, begin the healing process, and leave the past behind. That's why forgiveness is so important; it's for you, not the one you're forgiving. So, when _she_ called that next week, I told _her_ I forgave _her_." My eyes wide. Seriously? Is he fucking serious? How could he?!

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I question harshly. "You seriously woke up one day and decided to just forget everything _she_ fucking put me and Al through and forgave _her_ for your own benefit? What about me and Al, huh? Didn't you ever stop to think about what talking to _her_ would do to us?!"

"Ed, slow down and take a deep breath," Dada instructs. I glare at him, but I do it, Dada sighing. "Honey, I said I forgave _her_ , not that I forgot about the horrible things _sh_ e did to you boys. I will never, ever forget what _she_ did. Forgiving _her_ doesn't erase that. And, you know, I believe forgiveness is an ongoing process. There are days where I _don't_ forgive _her_. I actually in my head _revoke_ the forgiveness I gave _her_ and decide I'll never forgive _her._ And, in some ways, I'll probably never, truly forgive _her_ all the way. How could I? What _she_ did to you boys will leave lasting scars and that's something that I may never be able to forgive _her_ for. But, here's the thing. Every time I revoke the forgiveness or decide _she_ isn't worth forgiveness, which _she's_ not mind you, bitterness begins to grow in my heart. I become irritable, quick-tempered, moody, and impatient when I revoke forgiveness. But as soon as I give it back, I begin to feel better. Ed, forgiveness really isn't for _her_ , it's for _you_. It can begin to relieve some of the anger and bitterness you feel. It's not an attempt to just forget everything and become _her_ best friend. It's a way for you to heal."

"So, what?" I ask bitterly. "You just, like, forgive _her_ over and over again just to feel a little better? You just keep talking to _her_ and forgiving _her_ like it's nothing? I can't do that. I can't just forgive _her_ like nothing happened. And, to be honest, right now I'm not sure I can forgive _you_ for talking to _her_ and then hiding it from us!"

"I'm sorry," Dad says quietly. "I don't talk to _her_ every week and our conversations are superficial to say the least. I want you to know that I by no means have forgotten what _she_ did. That's why I go back on forth on whether or not I truly want to forgive _her_ or not. As for not telling you boys, I knew this would be the reaction I'd get, and I didn't want to stress you out. I also didn't want you to think that I wanted you to forgive _her_. I realize that while it may help you to heal, that forgiveness may never be possible for you and Al. I'm not the one who was abused, so perhaps it's easier for me to forgive. I'm not sure. But I suppose now you're both old enough to consider whether or not that's something you can do and if it'll be beneficial to you. Either way, it's up to you. You never have to speak to _her_ ; _she_ never has to know. It can be an internal thing. But it is something I want you both to seriously consider."

"Whatever," I mumble. I see Al nodding out of the corner of my eye and I glare at him. I cross my arms and Al says in a very quiet voice,  
"I'll think about it, Daddy. Thanks for being honest with us. I know that's not always easy, but it's always the right thing to do." Dada smiles proudly at him.

"Just know, Al, that you don't have forgive _her_ now or ever if you don't want to," Dada tells him. I roll my eyes and Dad goes on, "That's a very personal decision to make. You can decide not to forgive now but change your mind as adult or never forgive at all. At the end of the day, it's all about what will help you heal and as you get older, those decisions need to be made by you and you alone, good or bad." Al nods and I huff angrily.

"This is all bullshit!" I exclaim, standing up. I'm heaving and start pacing the room. "Give me a break! I'm never gonna forgive that fucking monster! Never! And you're a bastard for doing it! I can't believe you'd do that to us! I fucking hate you and, Al, if you forgive _her_ , I'll hate you, too!" I storm off and stomp up the stairs, slamming my door behind me.

It's all bullshit! How could Dad really say all that with a straight face? Give me a fucking break! How the fuck could forgiving _her_ help me at all?! All it does is convince _her_ that what _she_ did doesn't fucking matter anymore! Oh, it's okay that you fucking hit me with a dog chain and beat me and my little brother senseless when we were kids 'cause you're s _orry_ so I _forgive you_. Bullshit! It's bullshit! I flop down on my bed, fuming. Not only has Dad been having secret phone conversations with his ex-wife, my fucking _abuser_ , but he forgave _her_! And, now, he's encouraging me and Al to do the same! It's all bullshit! I roll over in bed and hug Lamby, so angry that I start crying. I'm hurt. I can't believe Dada talks to _her!_ I can't believe Dada forgave _her!_ It makes no sense to me! I'm hurt and I'm angry. I'm so, so angry! I do that annoying thing sometimes where when I'm angry, I always end up crying. I cry and cry, my eyes starting to itch. I decide that I should take a nap, so I do, crying myself to sleep. Someone's knocking on my door. I groan and roll over, sitting up in bed.

"What?" I groan. The door opens and I glare as Dada walks in. He comes over to my bed and sits down.

"Are you hungry?" Dada asks. I shake my head.

"No, go away," I demand angrily. "Get out of my room!"

"Edward, I know you're upset," Dad begins and I roll my eyes at him.

"Oh, you have no idea how I feel," I snap, interrupting him. "Leave me alone! I don't wanna see you!" Dad sighs and rubs his temples.

"Try to understand," Dad says, almost begging. " _Her_ family completely cut _her_ out of their lives after the arrest. _She_ has no one, Ed, and I guess, to an extent, I feel bad."

"Oh, you feel bad?!" I cry. "That's so sweet! Is that supposed to make me feel bad for _her?!_ _She_ deserves it! Give me a break! Are you hung up on _her_ worthless, pathetic, child-abusing ass or something?!"

"No, I am not hung up on _her_ ," Dada replies. "It's like I said earlier; it's complicated. And, I agree that _she_ deserves what's happening to _her_ because _she_ does. _She_ absolutely does. That doesn't change the fact that _she's_ a human being."

"Oh, _whatever!_ " I yell. "What about me and Al, huh? Weren't _we_ human beings? Aren't _we_ human beings? I don't want you to talk to _her_ anymore! I want you to stop!" Dad talking to the person who tortured me and my baby brother for seven years is too painful. I don't understand why he doesn't see that! Why doesn't he understand?!

"Okay," Dada answers. "Okay. If that will make you feel better, that's okay. I'll stop talking to _her._ Next Saturday, I'll tell _her_ our extremely superficial relationship is over. I can't imagine what you're feeling knowing that I talk, no matter how briefly, to the woman who has caused you so much pain. If you're uncomfortable with me speaking with _her_ , which I completely understand why you would be, I'll stop." I blink. So… he _does_ understand? All it takes for Dad to stop is for me to tell him to? _Huh?_

"Oh," I say stupidly. "Um, okay. Thanks." I look over at him, feeling guilty about yelling at him earlier. "Dada?"

"What, honey?" Dad asks.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," I apologize, my face hot with shame. "I don't hate you and Al, well, if he thinks it'll help him feel better to forgive _her_ , I won't hate him. I didn't mean it." Dada puts an arm around me and kisses my hair.

"I know you don't hate us," Dada sighs. "I know."

"What did you make for dinner?" I ask quietly.

"Lucy's here and she made us supper," Dada replies. "She made Philly cheese steak stuffed peppers. It smells very delicious."

"I guess I can try to eat," I tell him. Dad stands up and pulls me to my feet.

"You know, Ed," Dada begins, "I was thinking that maybe you could write _her_ a letter that spells out exactly how you feel. _She_ never has to read it or anything, but it might be a good way to explore your feelings a little." I shrug.

"I guess," I agree. "Maybe I can do that with Dr. Hughes on Monday. I sorta… I sorta wanna talk to him about all this forgiveness stuff." Dad smiles at me and pats my back.

"I think that's a wonderful idea," he tells me. "C'mon, sweetie, let's go have dinner with Lucy and Al."

"Is Al okay?" I ask, walking down the hallway.

"I believe so, why?" Dada asks puzzled.

"Oh, well, I was super mean to him and he had an accident earlier," I explain. "I'm just worried about him."

"Well, we're all worried about him," Dada sighs. "He barely eats and is still losing weight."

"And he hardly talks, too," I add. Dad nods.

"I really don't want to go out of town after the Fourth," Dad says, his voice filled with worry. "He's only been out of the hospital for about three weeks and he's sick again. I really feel like I can't leave him."

"Can't you, like, call your boss and tell them what's going on?" I ask. I feel like a little kid 'cause I don't really know how jobs work. Lucy's the department head, but she's not really his boss. I don't know who his boss is. Dada chuckles at me and I blush a little.

"I have talked to the people involved in planning the trip and they said unless he gets hospitalized between now and then, I am still required to go," Dad tells me.

"That sucks," I comment, going into the dining room. I see Lucy and hurry over to her, giving her a big hug.

"Hey, Eddo," she laughs, hugging me tight. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really, but I wanna try what you made," I tell her. "Where's Al?"

"Behind you," Lucy informs me with a grin. I look behind me and see Al sitting at the table. I hurry over to him and hug him from behind, Al giggling a little.

"What's the matter, Ed?" Al asks softly.

"Nothing, buddy," I assure him. "I just felt bad about how mean I was earlier."

"I forgive you," Al tells me quietly. I kiss his hair and sit down next to him.

"Al, do you feel up to trying the stuffed pepper?" Lucy asks, carrying the food to the table. Al nods and Lucy says, "Okay. I have soup for you if decide you can't handle it. I know you aren't feeling well."

"I find that Al gets upset tummies when he's got respiratory infections," Dada comments. "Dr. Marcoh believes it has something to do with all the snot and gross stuff that goes down our throats when we're sick and it upsets his tummy." Lucy nods.

"My allergies do that to me sometimes," Lucy replies, serving me a pepper. She gives Al one, Dada sitting down across from me.

"Thanks," I say, Lucy serving Dada. They kiss quickly and I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling. It is nice to see Dad so happy. I just gotta give him a hard time when he commits an act of PDA.

"Well," Lucy sighs, sitting down, "dig in!" I do, humming happily.

"Holy cow, this is so good," I tell her, my mouth full. Al looks at me and takes a bite, a smile on his face. He nods along with me and Lucy grins.

"Glad you like it," she says happily. God, why couldn't have Dada found Lucy ten years ago? Why wasn't Lucy the nice, young, chemist Dada met at a conference in Florida? Why didn't we meet her until last year? It's just not fair. If Lucy had been there that week, I wouldn't have gotten abused and wouldn't have to decide if I'm gonna forgive the person my dad _did_ marry. I know I shouldn't get upset over what-ifs and wallow in self-pity, but there are days where it's just hard not to, you know?

We're on our way to Dr. Hughes' office. This morning, like every Monday morning, we got pancakes. After breakfast, we just hung around the house. I've been thinking about if I'm gonna write a letter to _her_ or not. Part of me wonders what the point is. Like, I'm not gonna forgive _her_ anytime soon and it's not like _she'll_ ever read it. I don't plan on talking to _her_ or anything, so why write a letter? Dada said it's more for me so I have another way to get my feelings out. I guess that makes sense. Stuff like art therapy has always helped me 'cause it gives me a totally different way to get feelings out of me. There's times where talking just doesn't cut it. Maybe Dada's right. Maybe these feelings of bitterness and anger I feel toward _her_ need an outlet other than talking. And, maybe, I need to explain to myself why I'm not willing to forgive. All that shit Dada said on Saturday still feels like bullshit to me. I'm sure he really meant what he said. I'm sure he believes that somehow forgiving _her_ helps him without erasing everything _she's_ done. I just don't buy it. Not that I don't trust him or believe him, but it just doesn't seem possible to forgive and not forget.

I go inside with Al and sit down. Al hasn't said a lot this weekend, especially after what happened on Saturday. I think he's decided to forgive _her_ , but I'm not sure. He never said for sure. I don't know how I feel about that. I mean, it's his choice what he does but I really don't like that Dada has forgiven _her_ , so if Al does, I think I wouldn't like that, either. I can't get mad at him for it, though. I want him to be more independent, especially after everything that's happened this summer. For Al, I bet he feels like a lot of the independence he had before he got sick has been taken away from him. In the hospital and in Disney World a little bit, too, he needed help with everything. After surgery, Al's heart stopped. When he woke up after that, he was forgetful and weak. He needed help with everything. Dada and I took turns feeding him when the nurses couldn't. He needed help sitting up, turning in bed, everything. It wasn't just the issues going pee he had to deal with. Al literally almost died, and he suffered for it. He's still suffering for it considering his bathroom problem is still super bad. If he makes the choice all on his own to forgive _her_ for everything _she_ did to us, I can't get mad at him or try to influence him not to. That wouldn't be right. Al's got to feel like it's okay to do things by himself and make decisions by himself and I can't discourage him from doing that, no matter how his decisions make me feel.

"Ed, Al," Dr. Hughes calls from the hallway. "Come on back." I stand up and help Al to his feet.

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?" I ask him softly. Al shakes his head, so I guide him to Dr. Hughes' office. I probably should have told him to try to go to the bathroom. Al doesn't always know when he's gotta go now and it's not his fault, but 'cause he doesn't always know we try not to ask if he needs to but tell him he needs to try. We walk to Dr. Hughes' office and sit down, Dr. Hughes sitting in front of us.

"So," he says, getting his clipboard, "is there anything you two want to talk about right off the bat?" I nod, Al looking at me.

"Yeah, uh, our dad has been talking with _her_ basically once a week for a year and half," I tell him. Dr. Hughes nods, writing something down.

"When did he tell you about this?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"Well, I, uh, sorta answered the phone and heard _her_ voice for the first time in three years," I explain. "It was horrible, Dr. Hughes. It brought me right back to being a little kid. _She_ still has power over me. All _she's_ gotta do is say something and I'm a mess."

"Why has your father been communicating with _her?_ " Dr. Hughes asks me. "Did he explain why?" I nod.

"Yeah," I say softly. "It honestly doesn't make any sense to me. He, like, still loved her when everything went down three years ago and I guess has been struggling to make sense of his feelings. When _she_ started calling, he didn't want to talk to _her_ at all, but _she_ told him _she_ wanted to say sorry and wanted him to forgive _her_. It took Dada a while to decide if he was gonna and he did 'cause he says it makes him feel better. Like, he's less angry and bitter."  
"This is bothering you, I can tell," Dr. Hughes comments. "Have you shared your feelings with your father?" I nod.

"I told him I didn't want him to talk to _her_ anymore," I inform him sourly. "He said okay. He knows it bothers me and isn't upset. He understands."

"So, why are you so upset?" Dr. Hughes questions. "He's ending the relationship as you requested. Is something else about this bothering you?"

"It makes me feel like I can't trust him," I say suddenly. I'm angry. "He's keeping secrets! He's talking to my abuser! What the hell is that about?! Who told him that was remotely okay?! And now he's preaching at me about how forgiving isn't about making _her_ feel better but making me feel better! Yeah, _right?!_ Does he honestly expect me to believe that shit?!"

"You feel as though he broke your trust," Dr. Hughes says. "It hurt your feelings and makes you feel as though he's not as trustworthy as you thought." I nod, breathing heavily.

"He's supposed to keep us safe," I tell Dr. Hughes pathetically. "Keeping secrets doesn't keep us safe."

"And why does the idea of forgiveness bother you so badly?" Dr. Hughes asks, writing frantically. I shift.

"I… I don't wanna forgive _her_ 'cause that erases everything _she_ did to me," I explain. "It… it…." I sigh. It's hard to explain. I don't know how to explain it. It's confusing and complicated and, honestly, a little scary. It scares me to think about forgiving _her_. I'm so angry and scared and confused. It's almost like if I forgive _her,_ I'm letting _her_ back into my life and I don't wanna do that.

"Ed, hear me out, okay?" Dr. Hughes tells me. I nod and he says, "Forgiveness is not a free pass for people to forget what they did wrong and hurt you again. If that's happening, you're stuck in an abusive relationship. Forgiveness is a way for you to get closure and, if possible, repair trust and bridges harmed by whatever hurt you've experienced. Forgiveness is a way to help you to deal with some of your feelings and past experiences with the mindset that you are strong enough to move forward. When your father told you that forgiveness benefits you and not _her_ , he meant it." I shake my head and Dr. Hughes continues,

"Think about it this way. When you're mean to Al and you apologize, what are you hoping happens?"

"Uh, I wanna tell him sorry 'cause I hurt him and I shouldn't have," I answer. "And I want him to forgive me."

"Okay, and when he forgives you, what happens?" Dr. Hughes asks. "Does he just forget what you said or did?" I shake my head.

"No, but he feels better and I feel better and we move on," I reply. Dr. Hughes nods.

"Right," he agrees. "So, your dad broke your trust and hurt your feelings. He has made decisions over the years that have hurt you. You're never going to forget those things, but do you think it's time you forgave him? Do you think it might be time to forgive him and begin to work through those things and move past them?" I nod a little. That was a clever segue, not gonna lie. Very smooth.

"I wanna forgive him," I say. "I'm not ready to forgive _her_ and I may never be ready. But I am ready to forgive him. And, uh, could you help me write a letter to Dad and _her?_ "

"Of course," Dr. Hughes replies. "What would you like the letter to say?"

"That I forgive Dada and love him," I say. "Then I wanna explain to both him and _her_ that right now, forgiveness isn't possible for _her_. I'm not just, like, a heartless douche bag or anything, but I just don't think I can forgive _her_ now or ever. Does that make sense?" Dr. Hughes nods, a smile on his face.

"It does," he tells me. "And I think a letter is a wonderful way for you to express your feelings. Al? You've been very quiet? Do you want to say anything?" Al shrugs. Dr. Hughes sighs softly and says, "Would you like to write a letter as well? I'm sure you are struggling with a lot of the same feelings Ed is." Al nods a little.

"I wanna write a letter," Al says quietly. Dr. Hughes nods and gets up. He grabs everything we need to write letters and gives it to us. He sits back down and says,

"You two get started and if you need me to help you figure out how to say what you're feeling, just let me know." I nod and get started.

We spend a lot of therapy writing our letters. Al's quiet, so I don't know what he's writing about. I don't know if he's decided to forgive _her_ or not. All I know is I found a way to express how I feel with words. I found a way to tell Dada how hurt I feel that he's been talking to _her_ behind our backs and how bad it hurts that he never caught on to what was happening. I found a way to tell him that I resent him and blame him but I love him and want to start moving forward. Even though I'm not ready to forgive _her_ , I am ready to forgive _him_. I never thought about needing to forgive Dad as part of the recovery process. But, as Dr. Hughes talks to me and helps me with my letter, I start to see that it's a very necessary part of my recovery. If don't forgive Dada for what he's done that I'll never stop feeling so bitter and angry. I don't _want_ to feel that way anymore and I definitely don't wanna feel that way toward Dad. I love my dad. Yeah, he's made lots of mistakes and caused Al and me a lot of pain, but he's still my dad and I love him. Therapy ends and Dr. Hughes walks us to the waiting room. Dada stands up and smiles at us. He thanks Dr. Hughes and we leave, getting into the car. I'm holding my letter and I wanna read it to him. Dad starts the car and I say,

"Hey, Dada?"

"What's up, Ed?" Dad asks.

"I, um, wrote you and _her_ a letter and I wanna read it to you," I tell him. Dad nods.

"I'm all ears," he replies and I swallow nervously.

"Okay, here goes," I say. "Dear Dada,

"I know you think I gotta forgive _her_ 'cause you think it'll make me feel better. I know you feel better 'cause you did but right now, I just don't think I can do that. I want you to understand why. It's not 'cause I think you're wrong or something stupid like that. It's 'cause you didn't see what I saw. How can I forgive someone who kept Al in a trunk for three days or who yelled his self-confidence away? How can I forgive someone who kept me in the basement, hit me with a dog chain, and caused me to lose my leg? How can I forgive someone who manipulated everyone around us and kept me and Al trapped in abuse for seven years? I don't think I can, not right now and maybe not ever. When you told me that you've been talking to _her_ and that you forgave _her_ for all that horrible stuff, I was mad. It hurt my feelings and made me feel like I can't trust you. It felt like maybe you didn't care about me and Al the way I thought you did or that you were erasing what happened to us. It felt like what happened to us because of _her_ didn't matter to you and that hurt my feelings.

"But, when I wasn't mad anymore, I realized that _she_ isn't the only person I feel bitter and angry towards. I realized that I have those same feelings toward _you_. You emotionally checked out right after Mom died, so I had to take care of Al until you weren't depressed anymore. You met a woman at a conference and rushed into a relationship that resulted in me and Al getting abused. You were never around when we were kids and did nothing to help us. You had blinders on, and it felt like you really didn't care about us. That stuff hurts the same way the abuse does. I'm not ready to forgive _her_. _She_ is the one who abused us and most of the blame is on _her_. So, I'm not ready to forgive _her_ and I hope you'll understand if I never can. But, I am ready to forgive you. I forgive you, Dada. I want to feel better and I want us to get along better and move forward. I love you a lot. I want to make you proud of me and I don't wanna be mean to you anymore. I don't wanna take my feelings out on you anymore. I love you and after three years of being just angry and stuck, I'm ready to forgive you. I forgive you." The car stops and I realize we're in a parking lot. I look over at Dada and see tears running down his face. I flinch and frantically say,

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! What did I do?"

"Thank you, Edward," Dada cries, pulling me into an awkward side hug. "Thank you. I never thought I'd hear that from you. I love you so much and I'm so, so proud of you." I whimper and hug him back. I think… I think I feel better. Like a weight's off my chest. Three years of anger and bitterness isn't magically gone or anything, but it's better. It's not overwhelming. I know Dada and Dr. Hughes said that forgiveness isn't for them, it's for you. I think that's mostly true but with me and Dada, I think forgiving him is gonna help him as much as it helps me.

"I love you, too," I tell him, my voice shaking. My throat is tight and I hide my face in his arm. All I've wanted for three years is to feel safe. I've wanted to feel loved and like Dada is proud of me. I've felt those things over the last three years, but it always feels temporary. Right now, though, I feel it in my blood. I feel it in my heart. I want to feel these feelings all the time. I hope that forgiving Dada is the first big step I need to take to be able to feel those things all the time.

"Dada?" Al asks from the backseat. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, sweet boy," Dad assures him, still crying. "These are happy tears." I let go of Dad and watch him wipe his eyes.

"Al, do you want to read your letter to Dad?" I ask. Al goes pale but nods.

"Yes, if that's okay," Al whispers.

"It's definitely okay," Dada encourages. "You can read, sweetie." Al squirms a little but nods.

"Dear Dada,

"I'm writing this to you because I can't write to _her_. It hurts my heart too much to even think about everything _she_ put us through. It's too painful. I've never known how to tell you how bad it hurts. All I know how to do is cry and withdraw and I don't wanna do that anymore. I get scared that I got stuck at eleven 'cause I got molested when I was eleven. I don't feel like a teenager, Daddy. I never have. I don't know what's wrong with me. All I know is I wanna feel better. When you were talking about forgiveness this weekend, it really stuck with me. There's lots of people who have hurt me, you included, and I wanna be more like you and tell them all I forgive them. But I'm scared. I don't wanna talk to _her_ or to David or to the kids at school. I don't have a voice around them. When I try, I get yelled at or threatened or laughed at or ignored. Sometimes, I get scared you'll do those things to me if I say something out loud. So, I wrote this hard stuff down since I'm too scared to say it out loud.

"I forgive you, Dada, for the stuff you've done that's hurt me. I know it wasn't on purpose, but it still hurt so I forgive you. I forgive _her_. That's complicated, though, 'cause part of me doesn't really wanna forgive _her_. I don't want Ed to get upset 'cause I forgive _her_ and I don't know if I really, truly want to do it. But I'm gonna try. There's gonna be days like you have where I take the forgiveness away, but I'm gonna try. I wanna feel better. I want to finally feel free from the abuse. I know it's gonna be part of me my whole life. Forgiving _her_ or getting free from it doesn't change that it happened and that it hurts. But if I get better, I feel like maybe, eventually, it'll hurt me less on a daily basis. That since it won't hurt me all the time, since _she_ can't hurt me anymore, I can start to move passed it. That maybe I can be a normal grown-up someday. I wanna try to forgive David for what he did to me. It's hard. It still doesn't feel real, but it happened. I'm…." Al trials off, his eyes filling with tears. He shakes his head, wipes his face, and continues,

"I'm sorry I never told you. I was scared and I didn't know what to do or how to tell you! I'm sorry I kept it a secret for so long. I'm sorry. Lastly, I wanna forgive the kids at school who tease me and ignore me. I don't know if all this forgiving will actually help, but it helped you, so I hope it'll help me, too. I love you, Daddy."

"Alphonse," Dada says quietly, "you do not have to feel guilty that you did not tell me about your sexual abuse. I understand how hard that must have been for you. You didn't do anything wrong." Al wipes his face again and shakes his head.

"I'm still sorry," Al cries. "I want you to forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive," Dada assures him gently. "What happened was not your fault and many children have trouble coming forward when they've been sexually abused. We've never been upset at you, honey. We've just been heart broken that happened at all. But, Al, I am so incredibly proud that you are trying to forgive the person who did that to you." I grin.

"I'm proud of you, too," I praise. "You're in a place that I'm not in yet. I'm _not_ ready to forgive _her_ or the kids who bully you or David, but you are. That's amazing, Al. _You're_ amazing."

"Ed, I'm proud of you as well," Dad tells me. I cross my arms and scoff.

"Yeah, okay," I reply, doubting that's true. How could he be proud of me? Unlike Al, I'm digging my feet in the sand and straight up _refusing_ to forgive _her_. Even after everyone's speeches about how it's for _me_ and is supposed to make _me_ feel better, I'm not gonna do it. I'm not ready. Maybe I'll never be. I don't think that's anything to be proud of.

"I'm serious," Dada insists. "You keep saying that you're not ready, meaning you haven't completely closed the door on forgiving _her_ later on in your life when you are ready. But, more importantly than that, you made a very hard decision to forgive me for everything I've done." Dad's chin quivers and I'm worried he's gonna start crying again. Dad shakes his head and goes on,

"You have no idea what that means to me. I really thought I'd never hear either of you boys say that to me. I figured everything that had gone wrong was unforgiveable. I suppose in some ways, it is, but I failed to separate myself from my mistakes. I feel like perhaps you've struggled with that a little, too, Ed. But now, you've separated them and found the strength to forgive and begin moving forward. That's incredible. You're so strong and I love you so much, honey. I'm really, truly proud of you. Both of you." I grin weakly and wipe my eyes. They got all misty when Dad was talking.

"I love you, too," I tell him. "That's why I can forgive you, Dada. I love you and I don't wanna be angry and bitter and scared anymore. I think it's just the next step in getting better and I'm finally ready to actually do it." Dada smiles and I feel my cheeks it warm. "And… you, know…. Maybe someday, I'll be able to forgive _her,_ too."

You know, it's kinda funny. I was a little skeptical about the whole forgiveness thing, even when talking with Dr. Hughes about it, today. I just couldn't really see how forgiving something was for me and not erase what they've done. That's especially true with _her_. That's why I can't forgive _her_ right now. I know in my head forgiving people doesn't just magically take away what they did. The hurt or pain or whatever consequences of what they did to you is still there. But, in my heart, forgiving _her_ is almost like giving _her_ a free pass. That it somehow makes what happened to Al and me less horrific or maybe even like it never happened. That idea is why it freaked me out so bad when Dada was not only talking to _her_ , but forgave _her,_ too. But, talking with Dr. Hughes helped and so did Al's letter. Hearing his willingness to forgive everyone who's hurt him, not just _her_ , really is amazing. It makes me wanna try hard and be more like him. I wanna be more patient and understanding. I'm starting to see the way to do that is to let go of some of the feelings I've had locked up tight inside of me. That anger and bitterness I've had toward Dada is something I've locked up tight. I wanted to hide it so I wouldn't hurt his feelings but all that did is make things worse. It made me angrier and hateful and take things out on Dad which isn't fair. Talking with Dr. Hughes today helped me see that the only way to start feeling better and to be more patient, understanding, and forgiving is to let go of those feelings. And, well, the best way to start to let go is to forgive that person. So, yeah, I'm not ready to forgive _her_. I may never be. But I am ready to forgive Dada. I wanna let go of those feelings and feel better and, honestly, I already do. I'm glad I forgave him and who knows? Maybe one day, I'll be ready to let go of those feelings I have toward _her_ , too.


	10. Chapter 10: October Third

_But I think... I want to live with all my memories. Even if they're bad memories. Even if they're memories that only hurt me... that I'd rather forget. If I keep them and keep trying, without running away, then someday I'll be strong enough that those memories can't defeat me. I believe that because I want to think that there's no so thing as a memory that's okay to forget. - Momiji Sohma, Fruits Basket_

* * *

I feel like I've done a lot of stuff or been through stuff that other kids my age haven't. Like, most kids in my class haven't had to go through their mom getting cancer and dying. Most kids in my class haven't been abused by someone. Most kids in my class haven't lost a limb or spent time in the PICU. Most kids in my class haven't spent time in foster care. But I have. I've done all that stuff. But there's another thing I've been through that I know most kids haven't done. I've testified in a trial. It sounds like such a grown-up thing to do. Grown-ups are involved with crime; grown-ups go to court. That's grown-up stuff. And yeah, I guess it sort of is, but kids go to court, too. There's the juvie court, the foster court, and adoption court for the kids who get adopted. They all gotta go to court for totally different reasons. But I didn't go to court for those reasons. I never was involved in foster court because Dada got cleared with no issues and I wasn't a foster kid for long. _She_ never had any desire to adopt Al and I, so it wasn't adoption court, either. And, even though I was a bit of a law breaker after the abuse ended, I never actually had any charges filed against me, so I never went to juvie court (even though I feel like I probably should have). No, I went to court to testify against someone. And that someone was Vanessa George-Elric. My stepmom.

Her trial began September thirtieth , 2013. Al and I had to be there the whole time even though we weren't involved until October third. That first day, Dada's lawyer said an opening statement and so did _hers_. Basically, they were claiming that my stepmom was insane and didn't know what _she_ was doing for seven years, so the punishment was too "severe". Yeah, it's bull shit, but how else do you defend child abuse? _She_ got questioned and testified a couple of times that week and didn't really help _her_ case at all. I remember _she'd_ say things about how bad and out of control we were and how _she_ had no experience with kids. _She_ even admitted _she_ hated kids. When someone asked why _she_ would marry a guy with two young children if _she_ hated kids _that_ much, I remember _she_ shrugged and said, "I never thought they'd be as terrible as they were and I did love Victor at one point."

I remember that _she_ testified and got questioned part of that first day, some of the second, and a little bit of the third day. _She_ cooperated and gave a timeline for the abuse. _She_ gave the approximate date for when it began, the sort of things _she_ did, how _her_ methods changed, and how _she_ hid it from Dada. _She_ basically confessed. Dada says _she_ never, ever tried to say _she_ was innocent. _She_ apparently plead guilty as soon as _she_ had the opportunity to. Dad figures that _her_ legal team more than likely tried to get _her_ to avoid confessing outright or something, but for whatever reason _she_ didn't listen. Guilt maybe? Doubtful, but who knows for sure. All I know is that despite the fact that _she_ confessed, the trial still had to happen, and _she_ still had an lawyer and stuff. Since _she_ had already plead guilty, though (and probably against the advice of _her_ lawyer), _her_ lawyer was basically hoping _she_ could avoid jail if they could prove _she_ was insane. Or at least I think that's what was happening. I've watched enough _Law and Order_ to make what I think is an educated guess about our legal system. Let's just say for whatever reason, _she_ didn't always say things that helped _her_ defense.

The third day, October second, Dada had gonna testify. That third day was him, then Teacher who wanted to witness for us, Granny who also wanted to testify for Dada, and Winry had to since _she_ saw _her_ get arrested. Then it would be me and Al's turn if there was time. The other people took a long time on the second, so Al and I testified on October third, the same day _she_ got sentenced. I remember Dada's questioning really well. I was sitting next to Al behind a table, surrounded by lawyers and other people. I remember that Dad's lawyer, who was also sorta our lawyer in a way, was always really nice to me and Al but I can't remember his name. I remember his face, though. I think that's 'cause the whole experience was so overwhelming and, to be completely honest, I never understood the court process. I still really don't. Like, I get why Vanessa had a lawyer. He was probably trying to lessen _her_ sentence, maybe even get _her_ out of jail all together. But why did Dad have one? They weren't pressing any charges against him as far as I know. And, like, if Vanessa gave everyone a timeline for the abuse and talked about some of the things _she_ did to us, why did Al and I have to? I'll never understand, I don't think. On October second it was, like, eight in the morning and Dad had been called to the stand. He was gonna testify first, then get questioned by, well, I don't really know who. Lawyers maybe? I don't really know. I just know that people not only asked him questions, but asked Al and me questions, too, when it was our turn. Even though I remember some details of the trial week really well, a lot of it is such a blur to me. I remember that when they called Dada up to talk, I watched him sit on the stand and he got the okay to start. I remember hearing him clear his throat and he started to talk;

"My name is Victor von Hohenheim Elric and I'm forty-years-old. I have a PhD in biochemistry and organic chemistry from the University of Illinois and currently work at Resembool College as the co-chair for the chemistry department. My first wife, Trisha Elric, died much too soon in 2005 from ovarian cancer. With her, we had two sons; Edward born in 2000 and Alphonse in 2001 following a miscarriage related to the cancer that would eventually kill her.

"After she died, I was lost. I didn't know what to do and had convinced myself that I wasn't capable of caring for my children alone. As a result, I rushed into a relationship that resulted in the abuse of my children. I met Vanessa George in 2005 at a conference in Florida. I consider myself a hopeless romantic, so I fell for _her_ right away. I told _her_ pretty early on in our relationship that I had children and that's when _she_ first told me that _she_ didn't like children. After about a week apart _she_ called and told me _she_ was willing to try dating a man with kids. _She_ put on a show of trying to get to know them, loving them, and wanting to be the loving stepmother they deserve. I traveled frequently for my job as I was focusing on undergraduate and graduate research at the time, so _she_ would abuse them when I wasn't home.

"I won't try to say that I didn't notice behavior changes and problems in my kids because I did. I just assumed it was them struggling to come to terms with Trisha's death and struggling with my marrying Vanessa in June of 2006. I wasn't home enough to really intervene, something I regret deeply. I didn't know much about the mental health of young kids and how it presents itself, so I didn't know what the behaviors they were having could mean. I also won't try to say that I didn't see _her_ attitude toward them or the cruel words that would occasionally leak out about them when I was around. I won't deny this because _she_ and I began having marital problems about four years after we were married. We argued constantly and looking back on it, the boys were at the center of it most of the time. _She'd_ complain about their behavior, school schedules, and anything else _she_ could think about.

"Around that time, Edward suspiciously hurt his leg. I was very suspicious about the injury and didn't even hear about it from _her_. My friend Pinako Rockbell is the one who told me, but she was under the impression that Vanessa had taking Edward to the ER, which never happened. He lost his leg as a result of _her_ negligence and we got hotlined by the nurses in the PICU at a hospital in Champaign. We were thoroughly investigated and nothing conclusive was found. However, Vanessa was court ordered to attend parenting classes and child development classes and we were both court ordered to go through martial counseling. We did the counseling, but I now know Vanessa never followed through with _her_ classes and our case slipped through the cracks. My boys had to pay the price for everyone's negligence, including mine.

"Three years after that, my boys confessed the truth to my friend Pinako's granddaughter, Winry Rockbell. That was when I finally learned the truth. Up until that point, I was thinking of divorce because things weren't getting better. Vanessa wasn't kind to my boys when I was home but I never suspected abuse. I assure you that if I had, I would have separated them and called the police myself. I regret how distant I was and how blind I was. I was obsessed with the idea of a family rather than realizing what was going on in the family I actually had. I'm not asking for anyone to forgive me or ignore what I did. What I am asking you to do is remember that _she_ and _she_ alone did this horrible, monstrous thing to my children. While I am partially at fault, I never laid a finger on them. I want you to remember that _she_ is the one who hurt them, and I fully believe _she_ knew what _she_ was going. _She_ was meticulous and incredible manipulative, making sure I or no one else who could have helped never caught on. _She_ is the reason they are in so much pain. That is on _her_ and _she_ needs to be held accountable." I shifted in my seat as Vanessa's lawyer stood up. Since I didn't understand why Dada needed to testify at all, I was scared he was getting grilled 'cause he was in trouble, too.

"You claim to have had no idea that there was abuse going on," the lawyer began, "if that's the case, what about your son's leg injury was suspicious?"

"Well, the story was inconsistent between Edward, Pinako, and Vanessa," Dada answered. "I never got a straight answer even after _her_ arrest about what happened. Edward still is afraid of telling me what happened, so I'm not entirely sure how he hurt it still to this day. Anyway, it also got infected rather quickly and it was pretty severely injured. It just didn't sit right with me."

"And the nurses called child protective services?" The attorney asked.

"Yes," Dada replied.

"Why didn't you if you were concerned and suspicious about his injury?"

"A nurse working with Ed put in a social work consult on day one and after that, the ball got rolling," Dada explained. "A social worker with CPS was planning on meeting us when we got hotlined, so I didn't feel there was a need to hotline _her_ again. Besides, I was dealing with a child with a traumatic injury with potential sepsis and a severe bone infection. I had a lot going on and since the nurses were dealing with social work aspect of things, I didn't think I needed to. While Ed was still in the hospital, the social worker did their investigation and home visit and came to a conclusion. It was Vanessa who didn't do what _she_ needed to do following the meeting with the social worker."

That was how the rest of the time Dada was on the stand went. Someone would ask him a question and he'd answer. I can't remember all the questions he got asked, but I think a lot of it was about the behaviors he noticed in me and Al as kids as well as the things _she_ would do or say in front of him during the abuse. That went on for a while and when everyone was finished asking Dad things, we took a break. He was done testifying and stuff for the rest of the trail which I know he was happy about. Even though he's a teacher, he really hates talking in front of big groups. That's why Dad works at a small school like Resembool College and not a place like SIUE or the U of I. There's no way my dad could lecture to a group of college kids as big as the class sizes get at those mega schools. I remember that when we could leave during the break, Dada took my hand, held Al with one arm, and walked us to the bathroom. I was hungry. It was close to eleven, so it was getting close to lunch time. I wasn't sure when we'd be able to eat lunch. I tried to pee, Dada was struggling with Al. Al didn't want to let go of him. He was crying loudly, Dada soothing him gently. Al just cried and cried, clinging tightly on to Dad.

"Al, you won't be able to go potty until around 1:00 if you don't go now," Dada told him gently. "That's when lunch is. You need to go potty, okay? I promise I won't leave you alone. I'll be right outside the stall, okay?" Al kept crying and I tugged on Dada's clothes.

"Dada," I whimpered. "Why did they ask all those questions? Are you gonna get in trouble instead of _her?_ "

"Ed, I'm not going to get in trouble," he assured me. "They're just getting all the information they can. That's why when it's your turn, I need you to be a brave boy answer their questions, okay?"

"But why?" I cried. "I'm not supposed to tell!"

"Edward, listen to me," Dada said gently, "This trial is only to decide how Vanessa is going to be punished for abusing you and Alphonse. To make sure _she_ gets the punishment _she_ deserves, we have to tell them what happened and answer their questions. _Her_ rule about not telling people was mean, unfair, and you don't follow _her_ rules anymore. It's okay to tell people what happened." I shook my head and Dada patted my head.

"I don't want a turn," I told him pathetically, crying a little.

"I know but you'll have one today or tomorrow," Dada replied, trying to set Al on the floor. "Alphonse, honey, please. You need to go potty. If you have an accident because you don't go now, I think you'd have to wait until lunch to get cleaned up. I'm not going to leave you."

"B-But _s-she's_ here!" Al sobbed.

"Alphie," Dada cooed. "I am not going to leave you. _She_ can't hurt you anymore, I promise. _She_ can't come near you. You're safe. I need to put you down so you can go potty." Dada tried to put Al on the floor and actually succeeded. He followed Al into the stall, and I waited for them. When Al was done, he washed his hands and we headed back into the court room.

When we got back, it was Teacher's turn. She told the court room about how she saw right through Vanessa and hotlined _her_ several times. She told them about how we all met and how she tried to keep us safe through teaching us martial arts. Teacher also explained that she bonded with us, that she and Sig tried to advocate for us, but never got anywhere because of what happened with Al when he was in first grade. When he was in first grade, he told a teacher that we were being abused at home. But Vanessa being who _she_ was, managed to lie _her_ way out of it and from then until _she_ got arrested, everyone thought Al was a liar and no one ever took what Teacher said seriously. So, that was a big talking point since everyone believing that Al lied basically trapped us for seven years. The defense asked Dada about it and they asked Teacher, too. But Teacher wasn't around back then. All she could say was that Al isn't a liar and his claims should have been taken more seriously because child abuse is a serious accusation. When she was done it was time for lunch. After lunch, Granny testified, then it was Winry's turn. I remember that she looked so small and scared up there, her eyes stuck on Vanessa. Al and I were scared, too. It felt like Vanessa was watching us. Winry began her testimony and at first, she rambled a bit about how long she's known us and stuff like that. It took a while, but she finally started to recount the day Al told her we were abused. She was shaking, obviously trying not to cry. When she was done, nobody had any questions for her. I guess Vanessa's lawyer was waiting to torture kids with questions when it was me and Al on the stand. Anyway, after that we got to go home. That meant Al and I would have to talk the next day, the day the jury and judge would more than likely sentence Vanessa.

I couldn't sleep the night before October third. I just laid there, terrified of telling my story and answering their questions, especially with Vanessa in the room. What were they gonna ask me? What were they gonna ask Al? I really had no idea and I was terrified. I wanted to avoid the whole thing all together but knew I couldn't. I really didn't want poor Al to get up there and talk. Al barely talked to me or Dada back then. I didn't think trying to talk to a room full of people with Vanessa sitting across from him would go well. Eventually, I got up and walked to Dada's room. He let me crawl into bed with him and I eventually got some sleep. When we woke up early the next morning, all three of us were in his bed, completely soaked. Al was wearing pull-ups to bed, so I knew it was me. I cried all morning, refusing to eat and nearly making myself sick. Dada told us we could bring a stuffed toy with us up to the stand when we testified. I brought Lamby and Al brought Chico. We walked into the courtroom and sat down, not sure how the day was gonna go. They called me up first. I remember my heart beating so fast I thought it would blow up. I slowly got up, Lamby clutched to my chest, and walked to the stand. I sat down, Vanessa staring right at me. I remember my heart was beating so hard and fast, my chest almost felt tight. It felt like _she_ wasn't looking at me but looking _through_ me. I whimpered into the microphone. I remember feeling like I couldn't do it.

"It's all right, son," the judge reassured me. I remember that the judge, like Dada's lawyer, was really nice to me and Al the whole time. "You can talk. You're safe." Dada wrote me a notecard with stuff I should say first. Then, he told me to just talk about how the abuse started and some of the things _she_ did to me. I didn't have to go into detail or anything, but I needed talk about it enough to answer any of the questions asked. I looked down at the notecard. It was hard to read 'cause my hand was shaking but I finally said;

"My n-name is Edward von Hohenheim Elric. I'm thirteen an' I'm in eighth grade at Resembool Community Junior High. I, uh... I l-like school an' I... Um... my st-stepmom... _she_ a-abuse... _she_ hurt me an' my little brother for seven years. I... _she_ told us we were bad all the time. _She_ hurt us. I-I don't know what else to say."

"Can you talk about some specific ways _she_ abused you, Edward?" Someone asked me. I can't remember if it was the judge or a lawyer. I nodded, my bottom lip starting to tremble. I was crying, holding on to Lamby, and said;

"I used t-to get locked up in th-the basement for days. I didn't have any food, it was dark, and there was nowhere to use the bathroom." I squirmed. Talking about it made me have to pee. "It was scary, but if I cried, _sh-she'd_ c-come down to y-yell at me or b-beat me. It was cold down there and I was all alone. If I h-had an accident, _sh-she'd_ hurt me. It wasn't my f-fault." I clenched every muscle in my body. I suddenly had to pee. I looked over at Dada, tears running down my face and said, "Dad, I gotta go."

"You're almost done and you're doing such a good job," the judge encouraged me. "I realize it's difficult to face your abuser in court and recount some of the things _she_ did to you but you're doing well." That's when Vanessa's lawyer stood up. I swallowed and they asked,

"May I ask him a few questions?" The judge nodded so the attorney looked right at me. I can't remember the dude's name. All I remember was how small he made me feel when his narrow, beady eyes stared right through me. He had the same look s _he_ had while I was on the stand, his eyes piercing right through me and making me feel like the smallest, most worthless person ever.

"How old were you when the abuse started?" He asked, never breaking eye contact with me.

"S-Six," I whimpered.

"And how old were you when my client allegedly began keeping you in the basement for periods of time?" I blinked, tears running down my face. _Allegedly?_ Was my word not good enough? I didn't understand the phrasing and it scared me. Did no one believe me?

"Y-You don't believe me?" I cried, hiding my face.

"Answer the question, please," the lawyer demanded. I was sobbing and I heard Dad say,

"This is too hard on him. We need to stop."

"We can't stop, Dr. Elric, sit down," the judge replied. "He needs to answer the questions."

"I'm not lying!" I wailed.

"Answer the question, please," the lawyer said again.

"I-I... I was n-nine, I-I th-think," I sobbed. "I-I'm sorry, but I c-can't r-r-remember exactly, b-but I thin I w-w-was n-nine!"

"It's all right, son," the judge encouraged. "It's all right. You're doing well and you've been very brave." I sniffled loudly and wiped my nose on my hand.

"Let's move on," a different person said, changing the subject. "Can you tell us a little bit about 'playing house'?" I froze up, my breathing becoming quick and shallow.

"I don't wanna play house!" I cried, shuddering. "I don't wanna be the dog again!"

"What do you mean by that?" _Her_ lawyer asked. I was starting to hyperventilate. I didn't want to talk about that. It was all too fresh, too painful.

"Judge, please," Dada said, practically begging, "He's not ready to talk about this. We need to stop."

"Dr. Elric, I won't ask you again," the judge warned. "You need to remain quiet."

"What do you mean by you don't want to be the dog?" Someone else pressed. I could hardly breathe but I managed to say,

" _She_ always made me be the dog! I had to eat dog food out of a bowel a-an' use newspaper a-an' got... got chained up outside." I remember people gasping. Besides the jury and stuff, there was, like, an audience. People from around the area wanted to watch for some reason. Dada says it made him feel like he was a part of the Casey Anthony trial 'cause people lined up at four in the morning to watch her trial. Having people watch ours made him feel terrible. It didn't make me feel to good, either, especially when you could feel their reaction to the things I said. People continued to ask me questions that day and I did my best to answer them. I don't remember everything they asked me, but I do remember the last two questions _her_ lawyer asked me. First, he asked me,

"What sort of objects did my client use to hurt you?"

" _H-Her_ fists," I answered, shaking. "Um, coat hangers. Th-The wire kind. _She'd_ kick a lot. Belts, th-the dog chain outside but only to me, not Al." The people listening gasped, Dada covering his mouth with his hands. I just kept talking, nervously rambling on; " _She_ broke plates over my head sometimes. _She'd_ lock us in our room or tie us up if we were bad. We never got a bath or got to eat. _She'd_ yell at Al and say such m-mean things to him. _She_ sprays me and Al with the hose if we wet the bed or something. _She_ used a knife on me once."

"That's enough," Vanessa's lawyer said bluntly, cutting me off. "Now, last question. Edward, would you say these actions you claim to be true were carried out by a sane individual? Do you believe _she_ knew what _she_ was doing?" I looked up at him, tears running down my face and nodded.

"Yes," I croaked. " _She_ knew. _She_ said _she_ liked hurting us. _She_ liked it. _Sh-She_ said so. Dada... Dada says it's wrong to hurt kids an' I know _she_ knows that."

"No further questions," the lawyer stated.

"Let's take a thirty-minute recess before Alphonse Elric comes to testify," the judge said.

"Thank you," Dada said gratefully. He looked at me and said, "Come here, Ed. It's over. You're done." I just sat there, shaking violently. Every awful thing, every bad memory was on the forefront of my mind. It was all I could think about. All I could see was Vanessa cornering me, beating me, and chaining me up. All I could hear was _her_ laughing, taunting, and belittling me. I wasn't even sure where I was.

"Edward." I blinked and looked up. Dada was standing in front of me, smiling at me. I looked around, the room practically empty.

"What?" I croaked. Dada picked me up and held me, comforting me as I sobbed into him.

"You did such a good job," he praised. "I'm so, so proud of you." He carried me out of the room and took me to the bathroom. I went pee then Al tried. He couldn't go. He was too nervous. He had to talk next. I remember after I washed my hands I tugged on Dad's clothes.

"What, sweetie?" He asked.

"Um, does Al hafta talk?" I asked nervously. Dada sighed and nodded, Al hiding behind him.

"I'm afraid so," he answered. "But, when his turn is up, we go eat and the jury decides how long Vanessa goes to jail. We'll be all done with this soon, promise."

"Al can't," I told him desperately. "He can't. He doesn't have a voice anymore."

"He has to try at least," Dada told me.

"Why are we doing this?" I asked, not completely understanding why we had to testify to begin with. "Are we in trouble?"

"You aren't in trouble," Dad began gently. "The jury needs as many facts as they can get so Vanessa gets fairly punished for what _she_ did to you. Reading _her_ confession is one thing, but hearing you boys speak, that makes what _she_ did real. It puts faces to the story they read. What _she_ did is wrong, and _she_ needs to be punished for it. You're helping everyone decide how long _she_ should be in jail. Does that make sense?" I nodded.

"A little," I whimpered. Dad smiled at me and picked me up.

"Good," he hummed, picking Al up, too. I clung to him as he carried us back to the court room. People were filing back in. Vanessa was sitting there, watching us. I think _she_ was hoping Al would crack and that would help _her_ somehow. I remember thinking if he did breakdown, that whole "faces to the story" thing would become really real. Then they could see what _he_ r abuse did to Al. They could see how terrified we both were of _her_. If anything, I figured Al cracking would help _her_ get put away longer. The judge brought court back into session and called Al up. Al didn't move at first, so Dad got permission to escort him up. Al held his hand, Chico under his arm, and Dada helped him on to the stand. He kissed Al's hair and walked back. My eyes were glued on him. He was terrified and I could tell. He had notecards like me to help him and I could tell he was working up the courage to start talking. It took a few minutes of tense silence before Al finally said,

"M-My name is Al-Alphonse von Hohenheim-Elric. I'm twelve. I'm in seventh grade. I-I... I was four when... when it..." His while body was shaking. He was starting to cry already. It was too hard for him, for both of us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Vanessa make a face at him; _she_ smirked. It was the same smirk _she_ always had when abusing us. _She_ still had power over both of us even after not seeing us for months. _She_ had so much control over us it was really scary. I wasn't sure Al was gonna make it.

"Um," he tried again, "I was four when... it started. B-Brother looked out for m-me. He t-took care of me. He... he tried to keep me safe. _Sh-She's_ stronger than us. It hurts when _she_... when _she_..." Al's face crumpled and he started sobbing loudly. He buried his face in his hands, unable to speak.

"Alphonse," the judge addressed gently, "What started the abuse? Do you remember?" Al nodded, trying to compose himself. He was squirming. He needed to pee; I could tell.

"I-I w-wet my b-bed," Al began, crying. "Ed w-went with m-me t-to tell V-Van... Vanessa. Wh-When w-we did, _she_ got mad at me. It was an accident! I-I didn't mean t-to! But _sh-she_ didn't care! _She_ hit me a-and pushed Brother down! Th-Then _she_... _she_ dragged me outside and sprayed me a-an' Brother w-with the hose! It was s-so cold! _Sh-She_ l-left us out there all night! I w-was so sc-scared!"

"Alphonse, can you tell us about when your stepmom kept you in a trunk for a couple days?" Somebody asked. Al turned white and shook his head. I heard Dada gasp softly – he didn't know that had happened.

"I-I... I b-broke a cup," Al cries. I was shocked that Al was gonna talk about the trunk. Considering how scared he was and how hard he was crying, I was really proud of him. Al was really brave during the sentencing. I think after Dad explained to us why we had to talk, he understood how important it was that he told his story. Even though we both felt like we were bad and deserved _her_ abuse, we simultaneously knew we didn't. We wanted it to end. To us, this was a period on a sentence we had wanted to end for a really, _really_ long time. " _She_ got mad at me. _Sh-She_ d-dragged m-me outside an-an' sm-smashed m-my hands in the t-trunk. It hurt r-really bad! Th-Then _she_... _she_ put m-me inside. _Sh-She_... _she_ shut the d-door. It was so small. There was no food. I cried a lot. I had to potty, but it was so small and there was nowhere to go. I couldn't breathe. It was hot. I was hungry. I-I had accidents at first, b-but I w-wasn't eating or d-drinking, so I d-didn't go after a wh-while." Al abruptly stops talking, the squirming getting worse. I fidgeted, knowing that Al wasn't gonna be able to hold it for the rest of his questioning. Vanessa's lawyer stood up and asked,

"May I ask some questions now?" The judge nodded, Al hiding his face again. He had Chico under his arm and he was shaking super bad.

"Go ahead," the judge said.

"How often did my client spray you with a hose?" The lawyer asked. Al whimpered behind his hands, shaking his head. I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell the attorney to back off and leave Al alone. I also knew that I couldn't. If I wasn't on the stand, I couldn't talk. But the lawyer had a different tone with Al than he had with me. He seemed… _harsher_. I think his play was to make it seem like Al was exaggerating since he had been pegged as a liar in first grade. I think he was desperate to shorten _her_ sentence, so if he was mean to Al, he might be able to paint Al as a liar to the court.

"Answer the question," the lawyer instructed harshly. Al peeked through his fingers.

"I don't know," he cried. "Lots of times! I'm s-sorry!"

"Did my client ever lock you in rooms of the house, isolated from your brother?" The attorney asked. Al nodded.

"All th-the time," Al sobbed, the squirming ending. I frantically tugged on Dada's clothes.

"Daddy," I whispered urgently, "I think Al had an accident!"

" _Shh_ ," Dada shushed gently. "If he did, I'll clean him up as soon as he's done. It's okay."

"And if you, say, made noise or snuck out, what would happen to you?" The lawyer asked, his face twisting in disgust. Al hung his head, the judge asking,

"Are you all right?" The lawyer nodded but announced to the court room,

"The boy wet himself."

"He always does," Vanessa scoffed loudly, Al shrinking down into the seat.

"You don't get to speak," the judge scolded _her_. "Alphonse, try to answer the question, okay? I'm sorry you wet yourself. You're almost done and you've been very brave." Al nodded and put his thumb in his mouth.

" _She_... _she'd_ hit me. _She_ l-liked to t-tie me up a-an' hit me."

"What about playing house?" The lawyer asked, Al shaking his head.

"I can't! I can't!" Al sobbed loudly. "I wanna go home!"

"Answer the question, please," the lawyer demanded.

"I-I was the baby!" Al wailed. "I-I had to w-wear d-diapers an' eat baby food an' if I s-said no, _she'd_ hit me! I h-had to be in a crib all alone a-an' if I cried, _she'd_ hit me! I can't talk about it anymore!"

"No further questions," the lawyer grumbled, clearly not happy that Al managed to answer his questions. I think the lawyer knew that Vanessa was gonna get a lengthy sentence. Well, lengthy for a child abused anyway. They don't get long sentences at all, even when the kid dies as a result. In some states, the maximum sentence for a person that abuses a kid and that kid dies is a maximum of only fifteen years in prison, termination of any parental rights to other living children they have, and if they did sex stuff, they are on the sex offenders list for life. What sucks is most of the time, those pieces of shit only serve a couple years, get on probation and that's it. That's what a kid's life is worth, apparently. They get tortured, abused, and treated like shit, and sometimes die, and the pieces of shit who do it to them walk free three years later. It's fucked up.

After that, I remember that some other people asked Al some questions about the abuse. He did such a good job that day and answered all the questions people asked him. I can remember the people watching gasping and reacting to some of the stuff he said the same way they did when I'd say something disturbing. The funny thing is that as kids, we didn't always realize that what we said was disturbing or horrifying. Like, the basement is horrifying. I know that now because of therapy and stuff. But as a thirteen-year-old, the basement was _normal_. It was something I had to live through pretty regularly and was almost a part of a routine, that's how often _she_ locked me down there. It didn't mean it wasn't disturbing, it just meant that I didn't understand that what it was. So, for Al, almost casually talking about the graphic abuse we had to live through wasn't has horrifying as it should have been and he didn't connect the dots that it w _as_ horrible until later. Once all the questions were finished, the judge announced,

"We are now moving into the sentencing phase. Court is adjourned until the jury finishes deliberation." Dada instantly stood up and rushed over to Al. I followed him Dada standing in front of the stand.

"Al, it's over," Dada soothed. "It's all over. You were such a brave boy. I'm so proud of you and Brother."

"I-I p-peed in my p-pants!" Al wailed. "I'm a bad boy!"

"No, sweetie, you're not," Dada comforted him. "You're not. You're such a good boy. Let's go get cleaned up, okay?" Al nodded and put his arms in the air. Dad picked him up and took my hand. I still had Lamby, Dada walking us out of the court room.

"Daddy," I said nervously, eying Vanessa and _her_ lawyer as we walked to the bathroom. "I don't think that guy believed us."

"What guy?" Dada asked.

"Th-The one who was asking a lot of questions," I answered. "He's scary. I don't think he believes us."

"Maybe he doesn't," Dada said softly. "But I don't think that's it. I think he was trying to shorten Vanessa's prison sentence somehow. But you boys were brave, answered his questions, and told the truth. You both were so brave. I'm so proud of you both." I gripped his hand tighter. I wasn't sure what was going to happen next. What if _she_ didn't go to jail at all? What then? Would _she_ be able to see us? Nobody explained to me what would happen in the event _she didn't_ get convicted and sent to prison, so I was terrified of what was about to happen. Dada helped Al change his wet clothes, Al crying the whole time.

"It's okay, Al," Dada soothed. "It's okay. No one's mad at you. You're safe. It's okay." Dada picked him back up. I held his hand and he took us to go eat. I couldn't eat at all. I drank some juice but didn't eat. Al didn't eat either. He sat on Dad's lap and sucked his thumb, eventually falling asleep. I was tired, too. I somehow found space on Dad's lap and sat there, falling asleep, too. When I woke up, it was time to go back in. The jury was finished deciding. Dada gently woke Al up and we walked back to the court room. It took a few minutes for it to fill back up. The jury gave the judge the sentence they had decided on. He read it silently and then looked over at Dada.

"Do you have anything you want to say on behalf of yourself or your children before I read the verdict?" Dada nodded and stood up.

"I would just like to say there is no excuse for what _she_ did," Dada began. " _She_ hurt my children and they will have to live with the memory and pain the rest of their lives. I trusted _her_ to help me raise my children and _she_ tortured them. My heart breaks for them because I know no matter the sentence, it will never be enough. The sentences for child abuse are never long enough but that's not what I'm talking about. _Her_ actions will have a lasting impact on my sons. Going to prison won't make it go away. I want everyone to remember they are the victims. They are children and they didn't deserve what _she_ knowingly and intentionally did to them. Thank you." Dad sat down and the judge nodded.

"My heart goes out to your family," the judge said. "While a part of the blame is on you, sir, I know you didn't know what was happening and you love your children. Your boys are resilient, but you're right when you say the memories and the pain will never go away. It is my hope the verdict will give your family some peace. To Edward and Alphonse, I say this. I know how hard this day has been on you. I cannot even imagine having to come to court, face your abuser, testify and then be questioned about the abuse she put you through. You are both very strong boys and I'm sorry you had to be here for this." The judge then turned to Vanessa and asked, "Do you have anything you want to say before I read the verdict?" Vanessa nodded and stood up.

"Thank you," _she_ said. I whimpered and huddled into Dada's side. "I have had time to really reflect on the last seven years since my arrest. The more I think about it, the more I come to realize that these boys lack discipline. I wanted to mold them into good people, I did. Maybe I took it too far. I'm sure you all view me as a monster. I don't think that I am. I just don't have experience with children, and you don't know what they put me through. Their behavior was atrocious. I had to do something about it." Vanessa sat down and the judge sighed.

"Many people have little experience with children," the judge began. "However, most people would agree that binding a child and beating him is wrong. Most people know that isolating a child in the basement of a home and withholding basic needs is wrong. Most people know that chaining a child to a dog chain and hitting him with it is wrong. I believe that on some level, you know this the same as everyone else. You confessed to child abuse. Calling it discipline is not going to make it acceptable. It is not acceptable, and it never will be. Outside of sexual molestation, you abused and tortured two little boys in every way imaginable. You looked at two vulnerable members of our society, children grieving the loss of their mother, and hurt them. You stated in your own confession that you, quote, 'hate those damn brats. I like making them cry. The world would have been better off if they had never been born. Their whore mother should have aborted them both.' End quote. No sentence I could rule could ever begin to make up for the seven years those boys have lost due to your abuse. But the sentence I am about to read can help them begin to heal. Perhaps some time in jail will cause you to truly reflect on the horrors you put two little boys through." The judge cleared his throat and read,

"It is the decision of this jury that you are guilty of two counts of class A felony child abuse that did not result in the death of a child. You will be serving two consecutive ten-year sentences, one for each count, served back to back, for a total of twenty years in prison with a possibility of parole in 2027. Your parental rights to Edward and Alphonse Elric have been terminated and you are to serve ten years' probation following your sentence. Court adjourned." I couldn't believe that was it. It was over. Seven long years of torture were behind me. I looked over at Dada who had his head in his hands.

"What's the matter?" I asked softly, worried. Dad went through all lot that summer and fall. Divorce court, _her_ trial, and trying to manage me and Al's behaviors were tough. I was worried he was upset about one of those things.

"Twenty years is all _she_ got," Dada replied, looking at me. "Twenty years. Is that what your lives are worth? A mere twenty years? _She_ abused you, tortured you, isolated you, and _she_ gets only twenty years? I don't understand how that can be." My brow furrowed.

"Maybe the judge knows it's 'cause we were bad," I suggested, Dada sighing.

"Oh, Ed," he said, his voice shaking, "You boys are not bad. Nothing you did caused the abuse and you didn't deserve it. _She_ lied to you. You are not bad boys and _she_ deserves a lot more than what she got."

"Twenty years is a long time," Al said softly.

"What?" Dada asked.

"It's a long time, Daddy," Al repeated. "It's more than twice as long as... You know."

" _Oh_ ," I breathed. "I get it."

"Get what?" Dada asked, confused.

"I think what Al's saying is, _she_ took seven years away from us," I began, Al nodding along. "They could have just given _her_ seven years and that would have been fair 'cause it's the same amount of time. Or they could have put _her_ in jail for fourteen, a sentence for each kid. That would have been equal, too. But they didn't. They have _her_ six years on top of that. It's a long, long time, Dada. When _she_ gets out, _she'll_ be old and Al and me will be all grown-up. That's a really long time and by then maybe we'll be married and have kids. What's _she_ gonna have?"

"Yes, I suppose that's true, but you'll have to live with the memories your whole life," Dada replied. "They aren't going to magically go away seven years from now, fourteen years from now, or twenty years from now. You'll have to carry that burden your whole lives and I don't feel twenty years is fair."

" _She's_ gotta carry it, too," Al said, almost in a whisper. " _She_ knows what _she_ did. Maybe _she'll_ start to be sorry. Maybe _she_ won't. But _she's_ still gotta live with it."

"And I heard prison is rough," I added. "Like, you gotta trade cigarettes for food." Dada chuckled at me.

"Where in the world did you hear that?" He laughed.

"TV," I answered with a shrug. Dada smiled and pulled us both into his lap.

"You boys are so incredibly wise sometimes," Dad praised. "I never thought about it that way."

"Al's smart," I said.

"You both are," Dada replied. "You boys ready to go home?" I nodded.

"Yeah," I answered, Al sucking a thumb.

"Why don't we get some ice cream?" Dada asked. "I think we could all use some."

"Okay," I chirped. Dada carried Al and held my hand. We walked out of the room, people everywhere. They had cameras and were shouting things. Dada's lawyer helped us get out of there, reminding them that they weren't allowed to take pictures. They could report the story but not use our names. When got passed those people, there was another big crowd outside. They were yelling at Dada. I let go of his hand and covered my ears, freezing on the steps of the courthouse. It was so overwhelming.

"You don't deserve those babies!" Someone yelled.

"You're a neglectful man!"

"You're just as bad as the abuser!"

"Those kids should be taken away!" I whimpered, someone touching my shoulder. I flinched and looked up. Dada came back for me when he realized I wasn't walking with him anymore.

"What's the matter?" Dada asked. I shook my head.

"It's too loud!" I cried. "They're saying such mean things!" I was crying, so Dad asked,

"Want me to carry you, too?" I nodded and Dada picked me up. People were lashing out at him, screaming at him, and he didn't even acknowledge that they were there. He kept his focus on me and Al, trying to keep us calm. I don't think I had ever heard people say such nasty things to my dad before. They were people who didn't understand the situation and were just angry for the sake of being angry. There's lots of people like that now a days. Instead of finding something real to be upset about and try to change it, they get mad over stupid stuff or get mad over a version of a thing that isn't the truth. I see it all the time, especially on the internet. Does more harm than good if you ask me.

"You're not worthy of the gift of children!" Some lady yelled. "You're not fit to be a parent! How long will it be until you marry another abusive woman, you bastard?!"

"I bet he didn't even want kids," the lady next to her sneered. "I don't believe he truly loves them."

"Shut up!" I yelled. "Shut up! You don't know!"

"Edward, sweetie, stop," Dada told me gently, those ladies just looking at us. "What do we do when someone is being nasty just to get a rise out of us?" My brow furrowed.

"Um, don't say anything to them," I answered. "We don't fight with them. We let them know we're the bigger person."

"That's right, good job," Dada praised. "We don't give nasty people the satisfaction of responding to them. We hold our heads high because we know they aren't worth our time." Dada gave the women a look and I stared up at him.

"I'm proud you're my dad," I said, loud enough for them to hear.

"And I'm proud you're my son," he replied, starting to walk away. I stared at the ladies for a second before turning my head and kissing Dada on the cheek.

"Daddy, why are they yelling at us?" Al asked nervously.

"They're just mean," Dad told him. "Ignore them, honey. We're almost at my car."

"It's so loud!" Al cried frantically. He was struggling to breathe. It was all a little too much for him. He started crying again and I glanced backward. A lady was following us. I stared at her. She was fast walking and looked angry. Al was wailing and I squirmed a little.

"Dada?" I asked, my voice wavering. My eyes were stuck on that angry woman who was getting closer. "S-Someone's following us." Dad glanced back, making a face.

"Oh, no," he sighed.

"What?!" I cried, panicking. "Wh-What's going on? Why's she following us?" Al was hyperventilating and Dada quickly put us down. I was wheezing as he gave me his keys.

"Take Al and go to the car," he instructed calmly. "I'll meet you there." My lip trembled and I shook my head.

"Not without you," I cried.

"Honey, this lady isn't going to hurt me, but I don't want you to hear what she's going to say," Dad told me. He turned to Al and gently said, "Take Brother's hand, okay? I'll see you both in a minute." Al shakily grabbed my hand and I started to walk, that lady yelling,

"Where do you think you're going?! Are you going to answer for what you did to those boys?" I froze, Al hiding behind me.

"Ma'am, I'm just trying to get my boys home," I heard Dada explain. "They've gone through quite the ordeal and had a hard day today. We don't need to be heckled." That woman pushed Dad and Al gasped, crying harder.

"Daddy!" He cried. I stood, stunned, not sure what to do.

"I wanna go home," I whimpered, hiding my face behind my arm.

"Oh, you sweet boys," that lady cooed. "Is this man good to you? Are you actually safe or has the state failed you again?"

"Shut up!" I yelled. "Leave us alone! Leave my daddy alone!"

"Please," Dada urged her. "Stay out of our business. My sons are safe and are none of your concern." Dada pushed passed her, but she grabbed his arm.

"I'm hotlining you," she informed him.

"Fine," Dada said shortly, pulling his arm away. "I'm sure our social worker would be delighted to hear what you have to say." He turned to us and encouraged, "Come here, boys. I'm okay, come here." I started to walk over but that lady blocked us.

"You are so full of yourself," she snapped. I was crying, that lady saying, "You should be in prison!"

"Boys." I turned around, Teacher behind us.

"T-Teacher," I whimpered, "she won't leave Dada alone."

"I know, I was about to leave but saw what was going on," she told us. "Why don't you come sit in my care for a little while?" I nodded and lead Al to Teacher. Teacher picked Al up and took my hand.

"Wh-What about Daddy?" I asked nervously.

"Bug, there are police everywhere," Teacher assures me. "They'll protect him. Besides, your dad can handle her." I glanced backward and Teacher tugged on my arm. I walked with her, that lady yelling loudly at Dad. I couldn't stop crying as Teacher took us to her car. We got in and Teacher asked,

"Where was your dad going to take you?"

"I-Ice cream," I whimpered.

"Okay, why don't I take you and text him," Teacher suggested. "He'll meet us there and take you home." I shook my head and looked at the parking lot.

"I don't know," I said anxiously, squirming. I had to pee and knew we should probably go to the ice cream place. But I didn't like leaving Dada behind. What if they got in a fight and Dad got blamed for it? I didn't want that to happen to him. I squirmed again. I had to pee really bad.

"Ed," Teacher said softly, "Do you need to use the bathroom?" I shook my head.

"We can't leave Dad," I insisted. "He isn't safe."

"It's not your job to keep your dad safe," Teacher told me. "It's your dad's job to keep you safe. He'll be okay. You can tell me if you need to potty. It's okay." I blushed and nodded, tears in my eyes.

"I do," I admitted. "I need to go bad." Teacher nodded and put the car in gear.

"Okay, let's go," she said. "I texted your dad. He's going to meet us, okay?" I nodded, looking out the window. I watched Dad attempt to walk away, that lady pushing him again. This time, he stumbled and nearly fell over, and I gasped;

" _Dad!_ Teacher, stop! You gotta get Dada!" Teacher glanced up at the rearview mirror and stopped the car.

"You boys stay here," she instructed, getting out of the car. I nodded, Al sobbing beside me. I patted his back and comforted,

"Teacher's gonna help. It'll be okay." That's when the tapping started. I looked up and people were swarming the car. News people, angry people, everyone had found us and were trying to get to us. I shuddered and locked the doors, scooting closer to Al. They were all screaming and banging on the windows. I slid down in the seat, hyperventilating. I was terrified and I was trapped. I hated feeling trapped. It always brought me right back to the basement. I couldn't breathe, the crowd not caring about what they were doing to me.

"Brother," Al whimpered weakly, shrinking in on himself. The car jerked a little and we both screamed. I was terrified, shaking violently as the crowd tried to get to us.

" _Brother_ ," Al said, more urgently. "What's happening?" I shook my head. I couldn't answer him. I was having a severe anxiety attack. I sort of felt like I was on a boat during a storm and I was gonna go under any second. It was getting harder and harder to breathe as Al huddled closer to me.

"Okay, back off! You aren't allowed to take pictures or interview them. Back up!" I felt Al move and he tugged on my clothes.

"Officer Mustang's here," he whispered. The door opened and I screamed.

" _Shh_ , it's okay," Officer Mustang assured me. "It's okay. The crowd's broken up. You're both safe now. It's okay." I shook my head, barely able to catch my breath as I desperately said,

"Why? Why'd they do that?"

"It's hard to explain," Officer Mustang told me with a sigh. "Basically, we don't typically see a story like your family's that often around here. I think people are angry, upset, and confused. They want to know why it happened or know the details because things like this don't happen in Resembool, let alone this county that often."

"Where's our dad?" I asked urgently.

"He's still being yelled at by that lady," Officer Mustang said. "I need to break that up before she hurts him."

"Can I come?" I croaked. Officer Mustang's brow furrowed.

"You want to come?" He asked, baffled. Al and I both nodded. Truthfully, we didn't want to go anywhere with Officer Mustang and we really didn't want to near that lady. But we also were terrified of being alone so that fear trumped basically everything else. He nodded and took my hand. He helped me out of the car and then helped Al. He held one of our hands in one of his own and walked us over. Al whimpered and sort of hid behind him as we got closer. I froze up, but Officer Mustang didn't realize it. He kept walking and pulled on me, causing me to lose my balance. I fell right over, my face smacking the hard concrete. I just laid there for a second, my lip and nose bleeding. I groaned and sat up, tears in my eyes.

"Oh, God, are you okay?" Officer Mustang asked worriedly, Al shaking next to him. I shook my head, which was pounding. My forehead was bleeding a little and I started to cry.

"I hit my head!" I cried, Officer Mustang nodding.

"Uh, yeah, I know, buddy," he said, attempting to make me feel better. "I'm sorry. That's sort of my fault. I'm sorry. Can you stand up?" I nodded and stood up, bawling like a baby. Officer Mustang took my hand, Al whining wordlessly.

"What happened?" I heard Dada ask worriedly. I let go of Officer Mustang's hand and ran to Dada who picked me up.

"He fell down," Officer Mustang explained.

"Come here, Al," Teacher said, that lady clearing her throat.

"Are you here to take care of this miserable excuse of a man?" She demanded. I hid my face and cried, Dad rubbing my back.

"No," Officer Mustang said bluntly. "I'm here to arrest you if you don't stop harassing Dr. Elric. You need to back off and let him leave. He has legal custody of these kids and if that's good enough for the court, it should be good enough for you."

"Are you serious?" The lady questioned loudly. "This man got away with abuse! He neglected these boys! He deserves what _she_ got!" I squirmed nervously, that need to pee rushing back. I sorta forgot I had to until she started yelling again but I wasn't sure I could say anything until that lady was gone.

"Ma'am," Officer Mustang warned. "If you don't get to your vehicle now, I will arrest you. This family's affairs are not your concern." The lady glared.

"Fine," she said shortly. She violently pointed at Dad and said, "If you think I'm not going to fight to get those boys taken away from you, you're dead wrong." She turned around and walked away, Dada sighing in relief.

"Dr. Elric, Ed may need to go to the ER," Officer Mustang explained. "He hit his head good. Might have a concussion." My head felt like it was gonna split open. It was too loud and too bright. I felt dizzy. I tried to tell Dad all those things and that I need to pee but only a moan escaped. I felt floppy, Dad having to hold me tighter than usual.

"I think you're right," Dada agreed.

"D-Dada," I slurred sluggishly, "I... I gotta... gotta... I'm sleepy... I gotta... hafta... potty."

"Oh, Ed," Dada sighed. "Don't fall asleep, okay? Now, can you wait to potty or do you need to go now?" I blinked. I heard what he said, but the words were slow and didn't make much sense until several seconds after he said it. I shrugged, unable to come up with a response.

"Victor, he needs to get to the ER," Teacher said, setting Al down. "He needs to be checked out." Dada nodded and Al took one of Dada's hands.

"Okay, Ed, we're going to go get your head looked at," Dad said slower than he normally would. "Do your best to try to hold it until we get to the ER. Al? Be a good little brother and put some pressure on Ed's head when we get in the car to control the bleeding." I moaned again, feeling sick. I was nauseous, my head hurt like hell, and I was confused. I couldn't remember what was going on, only that I hit my head. I felt Dada start to move. I don't know when Teacher and Officer Mustang left. It's all pretty fuzzy. The only thing I really remember is that I got checked out in the ER, got a CT, but don't remember anything else about the ER. I also remember driving but can't remember getting ice cream or anything. I just remember my head feeling like it was going to split open and being in the car until I woke up at home in my bed.

I remember sitting up slowly and feeling woozy. My head was spinning, and I couldn't remember anything. Well, I did remember the sentencing. I just couldn't really remember anything after that. I kept seeing fragments of stuff that happened after the sentencing and my brain got stuck on one thing – ice cream. I wanted ice cream. I sluggishly got out of bed and wobbled down the stairs. I felt awful but I wanted the ice cream. I wanted something to get my mind off of the memories of what I had to endure at the sentencing. Dad mentioned getting it, so I wanted it. I walked into the living room, Al looking up and over at me. He hurried over and gave me a hug, crying a little.

"Eh... wh-what happened?" I slurred.

"You fell down and hit your head after the sentencing this afternoon," Dada explained. "You got a concussion, but it's mild. Does your head hurt?" My brow furrowed.

"Concussion?" I asked. Dad nodded.

"Yes," he answered. "It's really not serious, but your head is going to hurt and you might have some issues with balance and memory for a couple weeks. Does your head hurt right now?" His words sounded like he was talking in slow motion, but I did understand what he said. It just felt like an eternity before I was able to answer;

"Y-Yeah. I feel dizzy." Dada took my hand and guided me to the couch. I sat down and told him, "I want ice cream." Dad grinned at me.

"That's good," he replied, "I have a little treat for you. Actually, I have a little treat for both of you." Dad walked out of the living room, Al crawling up on to the couch next to me. He rested his head on my shoulder, Dada coming back in. He held out a to-go cup of ice cream to me and I just stared at it.

"Huh?" I asked, confused.

"It's for you, sweetie," he explained. "Teacher, Al, you, and I all went to get ice cream at the DQ in the square, but you didn't feel like eating when we were there. We went after you got check out in the ER. I thought you might like some later, so I ordered you some and brought it home." I blinked and slowly reached for the cup. I took it and opened it, taking a teeny bite of the ice cream that was almost too frozen to eat.

"Thank you," I said warmly. Dada nodded and sat down on the coffee table in front of me and Al.

"You're very welcome," he replied. "Now, I know today hasn't been easy for you. I know this whole year hasn't been easy for you, but I know that this week, today in particular, has brought up so many scary and unpleasant memories of the horrors you've lived through. So, I, uh, thought that perhaps you boys would like a present to not only cheer you up, but to show you both how proud I am of you for being brave today and all week." He held out two small gift bags to us. We hesitated, unsure it was okay to accept the gifts.

"I don't know," I said nervously.

"It's all right," Dad assured us both. "I want you to have this." I swallowed hard but took one of the bags. Al watched me take it and slowly took the other one, the bag resting on his lap.

"Can… can we open it?" I asked, almost in a whisper. Dad smiled warmly at me and nodded.

"Of course you can," he replied. I shakily pulled paper out of the bag and started pulling things out. The first thing was one of those _Wreck this Journal_ books, then there was a regular journal that I could write in or draw in if I wanted. My favorite candy, Twizzlers, was inside as was a little stuffed Sharpedo – my favorite Pokémon at that point. Dada had also bought us fun colored pens to use in the journals. Al's bag had all the same stuff, but the stuffed animal was different. He got a little stuffed Flareon, his favorite Pokémon. I was honestly shocked Dada knew what our favorite Pokémon were since he was gone so much when we were kids, but it made me feel like he really loved me.

"Thank you," I said softly, holding the little Sharpedo so tight my knuckles turned white.

Some people might think that October third should be a day I remember as one where I was finally free. They think that because that was the day _she_ got put away that I should remember it as a victory or something. That's bullshit. It's bullshit because yeah, that's the day _she_ got sent to prison but I also had to show up to court and testify against _her_. I had to face _her_ one last time. _She_ got to stare me down, intimidate me, and make me feel like the most worthless, stupidest person on the planet. It was one last power struggle between us, one that I still felt like I lost because as soon as _her_ eyes landed on me that day, I was terrified. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. I wanted to deny everything _she_ had done to me and Al to protect the family as it was, not how I wanted it to be. That's apparently something lots of abused people do according to Dr. Hughes. He says that for whatever reason, abuse victims will defend their abuser or deny what happened because they're scared of what'll happen if they don't and they feel like they gotta to "protect" themselves or their family or both. That's what I wanted to do. I can't even begin to describe how it felt to be on that stand, people asking me questions about the abuse and almost expecting me to act grown-up about it. I remember the impatient sighs from some people as I struggled to find words. I remember the sympathy-filled looks on the faces of basically everyone in the room. But what I remember the most is _her_. I remember the little smirks. I remember how _her_ eyes burned a hole right through me. I remember sweating and shaking 'cause I was terrified that somehow, _she'd_ corner me after I testified and beat me for what I said because I had the audacity to speak up.

That's why I hate October third. That's why I wish it could be wiped off every calendar for the rest of my life. That's why I wish I could just forget it ever happened. Because it was that day that I realized no matter how far away from me _she_ was or how long it had been since _she_ had been able to abuse me, that _she_ would always have power over me. And _she_ still does, even three years later. I can't even say _her_ name out loud because of what that does to me. That day I realized that I would truly never be able to escape _her_ or what _she_ did to me and that's why I hate that day. It was the day I knew I would always be trapped in the abuse, whether it was happening or not, and that is the absolute worst feeling in the world.


	11. Chapter 11: Christmas Time

_Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow, will find it hard to sleep tonight. They know that Santa's on his way. He's loaded lots of toys and goodies on his sleigh. And every mother's child is going to spy to see if reindeer really know how to fly. And so, I'm offering this simple phrase to kids from one to ninety-two; though it's been said, many times many ways, Merry Christmas to you. - Mel Torme and Robert Wells from the "Christmas Song"_

* * *

I know it sounds cliché, but Christmas has always been a big deal in my house. Like, I know it's a big deal to, like, everyone and everyone feels like their traditions and stuff are way better but... I don't know! It's Christmas! I love what we do at Christmas time. My mom always did an advent calendar and let me and Al help with it. Mom would bake a ridiculous amount of cookies and let us decorate them. Putting up the tree and stockings and nativity set was a big event, we'd always have hot chocolate, visit family and never notice the tension because me and Al were so little, go caroling, and drive around to look at Christmas lights. Then, on Christmas Eve, Mom would present to us our Christmas Eve pajamas (a brand-new set for everyone in the family) and we'd run upstairs to put them on. Then, Dada would light a fire in the fireplace, we'd sit on their laps all curled up together, and Mom and Dad would tell us the Christmas story out of the Bible and read us the book _'Twas the Night Before Christmas_. Al always fell asleep during one of them, but I stayed awake, determined to actually see Santa or the reindeer. We still do all those things now. We still go looking at lights, we still do the advent calendar, and we still get new pajamas on Christmas Eve. Christmas is my favorite time of year, but the sad thing is that it didn't used to be.

During the abuse, I _dreaded_ Christmas. _She_ tried to take every one of our traditions we built with Mom away from us. _She_ insisted we didn't need to do the advent calendar because we were going to find new things to do together. We stopped looking at lights and stopped put the nativity set up. The stockings Mom had made for me and Al stayed in a box somewhere, though something much worse almost happened to them. That first Christmas after the abuse started is the one that I remember the most. The first weekend in December is when we put up our tree and hang our stockings and stuff. I remember watching Dada carry the boxes up the stairs and set them in the living room. Al was bouncing up and down, chatting with Dad excitedly.

"What do you think Santa will bring you this year, Alphie?" I remember Dad asking with a chuckle as Al tried to help put the tree together.

"Um, toys," Al replied. "Like, LEGOs 'cause I need them an' maybe a cool train!"

"Wow," Dada enthused, Al fluffing branches on the bottom of the tree. Dad looked over at me and asked, "Aren't you going to help, little man?" I nodded and hurried over, digging in the Christmas box. I gasped and pulled out our stockings.

"Look, Dada!" I cried, holding them up. "It's our stockings!" I looked at them and held his out to him. "This one's yours, Daddy."

"Thank you," Dad replied, Al hurrying over.

"I wanna read it!" He demanded, greedy little hands reaching for the stockings.

"Okay," Dada laughed, handing his to Al.

"V... Vic...?" Al struggled, trying to read it. "Vict... Victor? Who's he?"

"That's me, silly goose," Dad told him, taking the stocking.

"Oh," Al said, giggling. "I thought your name was Daddy, Daddy."

"Well, it is," Dad said, tickling him a little. I laughed and saw Mom's stocking in the box. My eyes filled with tears and I picked it up.

"D-Daddy," I cried miserably, Dada looking at me. "I-It's Mommy's." Dad quit playing with Al and both of them looked at me.

"Well, we should put it up, don't you think?" He asked me. I shrugged, the door opening. Vanessa was home now, only making me cry harder.

"I-I don't know!" I sobbed, Vanessa sighing as _she_ walked into the living room. _She_ put _her_ hand on _her_ hip, Al hurrying to hide behind Dada.

"What's going on?" _She_ asked, clearly annoyed.

"Well, Ed found Trish's stocking and is upset," Dad answered sadly. "I had hoped maybe this year wouldn't be as hard as last year, but it is. I'm not sure the holidays will ever truly be easy without her." Vanessa made a face of mock sympathy as Dad stared at Mom's stocking.

"Then maybe this year we shouldn't put them up," Vanessa suggested. Dad, Al, and I all looked up at _her_ in surprise as _she_ continued, "I mean, that was a tradition between the four of you. Maybe forming new ones between the four of us will help." I shook my head, wiping my face. I didn't want to shove our stockings in a box where no one could see them. I wanted Mom to be included in Christmas, even though she was gone. I knew even at six that Vanessa was trying to remove Mom from our lives in any way possible.

"I think next year we can start to do that," Dad answered. "But it's still too fresh this year. Trisha made these herself, you know. Sewed them and everything." Dada chuckled and put a hand on my shoulder before picking me up and holding me on his hip. "Mom actually was still pregnant with you when she sewed yours, Brother."

"Really?" I sniffled, Al gasping softly and hurrying to the ornament box. He dug around for a minute before raising an ornament up above his head.

"Here!" He cried, standing on tiptoes to show Dad. "This is him in Mama's tummy!" Dada took the ornament and smiled. I looked at it and frowned. I couldn't even see much of anything on the ultrasound picture, so I wasn't convinced it was me.

"It is?" I asked softly. Dada nodded and I said, "But I don't see anything." Dada pointed to what was my head on the ultrasound and said,

"Look here, Ed. Can you see a nose sticking up?" I squinted, gasping when I did, in fact, see a tiny little baby nose sticking straight up.

"Yeah! I see it! That's me!" I cried eagerly. "An' that's my belly and my feet."

"Dad, Ed was a little baby in Mom's tummy," Al stated.

"And you were even smaller, Alphie," Dada chuckled, picking him up, too. "You were early."

"That's 'cause I hate bein' late to stuff," Al said, grabbing my ornament. "Do I got one of these?"

"Of course you do," Dada replied. "You were in Mom's tummy during Christmas time, just like Brother was. But you were a lot littler than Ed because you had only been in Mom's tummy for a little while. Ed was really close to being born in this picture." Al nodded, Vanessa sighing nearby.

"I loved Ed when he was born," Al stated happily, Vanessa cutting in,

"That's not possible, Alphonse. You didn't exist yet. You couldn't have loved him." Al's eyes grew wide and filled with tears, his bottom lip trembling.

"B-But I love him," Al whimpered.

"Sweetie," Dada comforted. "We know you do." Dada looked over at Vanessa and asked, "Did you really need to say that?"

"Sorry," _she_ said shortly, "I just think we need to keep him rooted in reality."

"He's five," Dad said bluntly. "He's just imaginative and that's normal. Besides, it just means he loves his big brother, doesn't it?" Al and I nodded, and I glanced over at Vanessa who rolled _her_ eyes.

"Dad, how come the ornament says it was my first Christmas when I wasn't even born yet?" I asked, Al studying the ornament.

"It was the first Christmas you were in our family," Dad explained, me and Al staring at him with wide eyes.

" _Really?_ " I breathed, Dad nodding as Vanessa huffed,

"No, not really, Edward. You weren't even a person yet." I glanced over at _her_ , Dada gently putting me and Al on the ground.

"You boys decorate the tree, okay?" He said with a smile. When I was a kid, I didn't realize how freaking pissed off he was about Vanessa's attitude. Looking back, though, I can. I can see him shaking just a little bit and that his fists are clenched. What _she_ said bothered him. It bothered him in a way I didn't understand then, and honestly still don't really get. I understand better now that I understand more about pregnancy loss and how horrible that was for Mom and Dad. What I really remember, though, was how confused I was. I wasn't a person? I didn't understand. To me, a person was always a person. I didn't understand _she_ was subtly trying to humiliate me. Like, if I wasn't a person then, how could I be one now? Pretty sick if you ask me.

"Okay," I said, Dad walking up the stairs with Vanessa following him. Al stared at the ornament for a little while before going to the tree. He hung it up and looked back at me.

"Babies are people, right?" Al asked me. I remember nodding and looking at the stairs.

"Yeah," I answered. I heard Vanessa and Dad's muffled yelling and turned around to Al covering his ears. He hated when they fought 'cause he got scared that someday, Dada would take his anger out on us the same way _she_ always did. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but I honestly didn't want to know. Dad had put all the stockings on the mantel of the fireplace, and I figured they were arguing over the stockings for some reason. I didn't understand, but I knew Vanessa was mad. _She_ didn't want us to hang stockings and decorate the tree. That much I _did_ know. But I decided I was gonna do those things anyway. I wanted to make our house look nice for Christmas. I went over to Al and patted his back.

"It'll be okay," I comforted. "Let's make the tree pretty for Daddy." Al nodded miserably and we went to the ornament box. We started hanging ornaments at the bottom of the tree, the muffled argument still hanging in the air. Al was crying, shaking hands trying to decorate the tree as they fought upstairs. I frowned, trying to figure out a way to block it out when I decided to use the stereo. I ran over, put in a Christmas CD, and turned it up loud. The sounds of Trans-Siberian Orchestra filled the house and Al instantly calmed down a little. We couldn't hear the fighting anymore. I gave Al a hug and peered over his shoulder. I froze up when I saw Vanessa stomping down the stairs right toward us. I shoved Al behind me, and _she_ hurried over, grabbing my hair and jerking me around a little.

"Turn this shit off, you hear me?" _She_ demanded. I whimpered and nodded, my hands pushing up on _hers_.

"I'm sorry," I managed to say, Al cowering behind me. "I w-will. S-Sorry." Vanessa let me go and I fell down, crawling over to the stereo. I turned it off and shakily stood up, Al bolting away from Vanessa.

"Get back here!" _She_ yelled, grabbing his arm.

"Leave him alone!" I yelled back, Vanessa gripping his arm tighter. _She_ turned to look at me, anger in _her_ eyes.

"You little shit," _she_ warned and I started shaking. "You know better than to talk back to me." Vanessa approached me slowly, still holding on to Al, when Dad said,

"I didn't realize our conversation was over." Vanessa instantly let go of Al who hurried over to me.

"I couldn't hear myself think," _she_ replied, Dad coming into view. "I asked Ed to turn the stereo down and he gave me attitude." I shook my head, Vanessa quickly glaring my direction.

"He's upset," Dada said, coming to my defense. "What you said was hurtful and you need to apologize."

"I'm _not_ going to apologize to a _six-year-old_ , I told you that," Vanessa snapped. "It's not my fault what I said hurt his feelings." Dada scowled, clearly about to get into it with _her_ again, his eyes drifting to us. Al and I were huddled up against the wall between the stereo and a bookcase near the fireplace, my arms wrapped around Al.

"Oh, boys," he sighed. "I'm sorry. We won't fight anymore, okay?" I nodded, eyeing Vanessa nervously.

"O-Okay," I replied, my little voice shaking.

"I have an idea," Dada said cheerfully. "I'll make us some hot chocolate and get some paper so you boys can write letters to Santa. How's that sound?" I nodded, Al clinging to me.

"I'll work on the tree," Vanessa told Dad, pulling him into a hug. _She_ faced him away from us and stared right at us, anger in _her_ eyes. The hug ended and Dada kissed _her_ cheek before walking away. Vanessa walked over to us and we flinched as _she_ reached over to turn the stereo back on. _She_ turned it down and painfully grabbed my arm. I gasped and _she_ dug _her_ nails into my arm.

"You stupid little shit," _she_ growled. "You weren't a person before you were born and you aren't even one now. You really think you're going to get anything for Christmas when and your brother have been so bad?"

"But... Santa..." I trailed off, wincing as _she_ dug _her_ nails further into my arm.

"Santa isn't real you fucking idiot," _she_ sneered. "And even if he was, he wouldn't bring presents to bad boys like you." _She_ let me go and grabbed the stockings off the mantel. My heart beat wildly as I frantically asked,

"What are you doing?" Vanessa didn't get to answer because Dada was back, carrying mugs of cocoa on a tray along with stuff to write letters.

"These really are beautiful," Vanessa commented falsely, though only Al and I knew it was fake. "Trisha was really talented."

"She was," Dads said distantly, sitting on the couch. "C'mere, boys. Let's get these letters written then we'll get our tree all pretty."

"Uh..." I said, my eyes glued on Vanessa. Al took my hand and I guided Al to the couch. We climbed up into his lap and I whispered, "Is Santa real, Dada?"

"Well, what do you think?" Dad whispered back. I shrugged. I really didn't know. I mean, I wanted to believe, but Vanessa's words bothered me. They made me feel stupid for believing in something like that. And, I guess I also was scared that _she_ was right about both things. Maybe Santa _wasn't_ real but even worse was that he was, but he wouldn't bring us presents because we were bad boys. I didn't _want_ that to be true, but if I didn't get presents on Christmas, then in my head it had to be. Plus, I was scared of what Vanessa's reaction would be based on what me or Dada said.

"I don't know," I replied, eyeing Vanessa nervously. "Maybe. Have I been bad this year?" Dad smiled a warm smile at me and pulled me into a hug on his lap.

"No, sweetheart," he assured me. "Not at all. It's just been a hard couple years for all of us. No one has been bad, not you and not Al." I swallowed nervously, Al shifting on Dad's other leg.

"Let's leave cookies for Santa an' science will show us if he's real," Al said, Dada nodding.

"Sure, Al," Dad chuckled lightly. "We'll let science tell us. I think that's a great idea. Now, why don't you two write your Santa letters? If you need help, I'm right here." We nodded, Al sliding off Dada's lap.

"I gotta get crayons," Al told him. "I wanna draw a picture."

"Okay," Dada replied, Al running off to go upstairs. "Do you want to use a pencil, Ed?" I nodded, still looking at Vanessa nervously. _She_ was just staring at me, sending shivers up and down my spine.

"Y-Yeah," I replied. "I wanna erase if I mess up." Dad nodded and handed me a clipboard and a pencil to write with. I wasn't sure what to write and Vanessa just standing in silence, staring at me, made me nervous. My hand was shaking and I couldn't figure out what I wanted to say. The words were getting jumbled and lost, and I wrote " _Santa, Dear_ " instead of " _Dear Santa,_ " which got me really upset. I tried to erase it, but only managed to tear the paper. I started to cry, Vanessa scowling as Al came back with his huge box of crayons.

"Stop it, Ed, there's no reason to cry," Vanessa scolded, Al flinching and sitting down on his knees in front of the coffee table.

"What's wrong, Ed?" Dad asked gently.

"I-I m-messed up a-an' th-the p-paper r-r-ripped!" I sobbed, Dad rubbing my back as Al watched from the floor.

"It's okay," Dad comforted. "It's okay. Just don't erase so hard. There's plenty of paper, little man. Let's just try again. Try saying what you want to say out loud. Would that help?" I shrugged and Dada suggested, "Let's try it." He handed Al some paper and got me a new piece. Vanessa sighed audibly but Dada ignored her as I said out loud,

"Dear Santa. It's Ed again. I wrote you a letter last year. I hope you think I've been good. I have tried to be good and I miss my mom a lot. For Christmas, I want that cool camera on TV, the remote control car I saw at the mall, some new Hot Wheels, an' my own Game Boy 'cause I like sharing with Al but it's hard to share all the times." I stopped talking, reading over my letter. I showed it to Dada and asked,

"What else should I say?"

"You can say whatever you want," Dad told me, Al shifting his weight a little on the floor. "Think really hard about what you want for Christmas so you don't miss anything." I nodded, Al standing up and holding up his letter.

"I'm done!" Al declared happily, bouncing on his feet. "Let me read it to you." Dada nodded and Al cleared his throat;

"Santa, it's me, Al. Daddy wrote my letter last year and I know my letters better so I did it myself this year. I am a big boy now. I am five and my brother is six. My Daddy is old but still fun. I think I've been pretty good this year. I listen to my teacher an' do my work. I want a stuffed Pikachu an' some big kid LEGOs an' maybe new crayons 'cause mine are old. I drew you a picture of my house and family in case you forgot. Love, Al."

"That's very good," Dada praised, Al dancing a little.

"I think so, too," Al replied.

"Al, I think you may need to go potty," Dad told him, Al nodding.

"Yeah, I do," Al answered, handing Dad his letter. Al had to have surgery on his ureters when he was four 'cause even though he was potty trained, he had trouble staying dry all day at preschool. He had something wrong with him, some kind of kidney reflux-thing I can't remember the name of that they always knew he had but wasn't sure how bad it was until he was potty trained. After they repaired it, he had way less accidents, but sometimes didn't know he had to go until it was too late. I was scared that was about to happen and Vanessa always beat him when Dada left for things like that. It wasn't his fault. He had a medical condition, but _she_ didn't care. _She_ never cared. Never.

"Okay, go potty and when you're all done, we'll decorate the tree together," Dad told him as I finished my letter. Al nodded and hurried away, Vanessa sighing again.

"We need to do something about him," _she_ said, my head snapping up. I didn't like _her_ talking that way about Al. Like something was wrong with him. Like he was defective. To _her_ , he _was_ defective. We both were. We were useless, we were bad boys, and we didn't deserve to be here. How Dada didn't catch on to any of this when were little I'll never know.

"What do you mean?" Dada questioned.

"You know what I mean," _she_ replied.

"Vanessa," Dada sighed, shaking his head. "We've talked about this. Yes, he had his repair last year, but he may continue to have the occasional accident and that's okay."

"I just worry about him," Vanessa lied with a sigh. "I don't want anyone to bully him."

"I don't want that either," Dad said, "but there's nothing we can do. All that matters is that he's happy and healthy now. We're very blessed, you know. Al could have been a very sick kid and he's not."

"Oh, I know," _she_ said, disinterested. I could see _her_ fist tighten around the stockings _she_ was still holding, and I swallowed nervously. What was _she_ going to do our stockings? I didn't know, but I was scared. At this point, Vanessa had broken important pictures, broken toys, and killed my hamster. The fireplace was roaring, _she_ was already pissed about the stockings and the stereo and the fight with Dada, so I didn't know what _she_ was going to do this time.

"I think I'll go check on Alphie," Dada announced, patting my back. I nodded and asked,

"Can… Can I decorate the tree?" Dada smiled at me.

"Of course you can," Dad answered. "You work with Nessa and get our tree all pretty." I slid off the couch and Dada got up, too. He walked away and I kept my eyes glued on Vanessa. The stockings were bunched up in one of _her_ hands, _her_ knuckles turned pure white. I was shaking as Vanessa said,

"Get over here." I nodded, slowly walking over to _her_. I stared up at _her_ , Vanessa holding the hand with the stockings out toward the fireplace. I shook my head, understanding what was about to happen.

"No," I begged softly. "P-Please d-d-don't. W-We don't g-g-gotta put them up. J-Just d-don't hurt them." Vanessa grinned at me.

"Your mother is dead," Vanessa sneered, my throat getting tight and my lip trembling. "The little whore died and you need to fucking move on, shit head. Hanging these up doesn't change that, you idiot." I nodded, tears running down my face. I whimpered and sniffled, watching _her_ slowly loose _her_ grip on the stockings.

"P-Please," I cried, begging _her_ with my all my heart, "I'll b-b-be good."

"You don't know how to be good, Edward," _she_ told me harshly. "If you want these, you'll have to get them yourself." I watched _her_ let go of the stockings, my heart pounding as they landed with a soft thump in the fireplace. I hurried over to the fireplace and squatted down, Vanessa laughing at me as I hesitantly reached my hand toward the flames. I could smell the fabric catching fire and knew I needed to act fast if I wanted to save them. I had been burned before, but the idea of sticking my hand inside the fireplace scared me. But, I didn't want those beautiful stockings that Mom had made herself to burn, so I shut my eyes and blindly felt for them. I cried out, fire touching me as I managed to grab what felt like two stockings and pulled them out. I threw them and opened my eyes, two stockings still on the logs in the fireplace. Fire was slowly crawling toward them, embers lighting up the fabric from underneath the stockings. I took a deep breath, my hand throbbing from where I was already burned, and grabbed the last two. They were so hot I nearly dropped them, but worked through the pain to pull them out. I threw them and quickly looked at my hand. The palm of my hand was bright red, moist, and shiny. It hurt so bad to do anything and I started crying, but not just 'cause I was hurt. I was so fucking _relieved_ that I had saved the stockings with only minor damage to them that I couldn't help it. I was sobbing and could hear footsteps rushing over to me.

"Ed? What happened, what's wrong?" I heard Dada ask frantically. I looked up and showed him my hand, Dad gasping. He turned to Vanessa and asked, "What happened?"

"He wanted to put the stockings up himself," Vanessa lied, frantically, trying to sound concerned. "I told him he was a little too short, but he wanted to try. He dropped the stockings, Victor, and they landed in the fireplace. I told him I could put the fire out and they wouldn't get too burned but he didn't listen. He grabbed them and burned himself before I could stop him." Dada shook his head and gently took my wrist in his hand.

"Oh, sweetie," Dada said gently. I was still crying, unable to really bend my hand 'cause it hurt so bad. "We need to go to the ER. Why didn't you wait, honey?" I sniffled and wiped my face with my free hand, Al hiding behind Dada.

"The fire was spreadin' and if I waited, they would have been on fire an' gone forever," I explained in a faint whisper, Vanessa's mocking laughter as I desperately tried to save the stockings floating around in my head. "I'm sorry." Dada sighed and picked me up, Al clinging to his leg.

"He needs to get looked at," Dad said, Vanessa nodding. "I read that burns evolve, so this could get much worse before it gets better. He may need a burn unit."

"Oh, I doubt that," Vanessa scoffed.

"No, I'm serious," Dad insisted. I buried my face in his shoulder, starting to get scared. Burn unit? I didn't know what that was, but I was scared. I had never really been in the hospital when I was little. I mean, I had, but for other people. I did break my arm and had to get that taken care of but I hadn't had any surgeries or anything like that. The only experience I really had with hospitals were Mom's chemo and death as well as Al's then recent surgery. Al had his surgery at OSF Peoria and while the hospital is nice 'cause it's a children's hospital, I was scared. To me, hospitals were a place you went to die. Mom being so sick ruined hospitals for me, so when I was a kid, hospitals were a bad, scary place and they still can be sometimes.

"I read that anytime a child receives a burn on their hands, face, chest, or feet, if it's deep enough they have to go to a burn unit. We need to get it looked at to see how bad it is."

"I'll go start the car," Vanessa sighed, walking away. Once _she_ was gone, Al peeked out from behind Dad's leg and slowly approached the stockings.

"Don't touch them, honey," Dada warned. "They're probably still hot and could burn you." Al nodded, squatting down and poking them with his foot.

"They're dirty," he commented sadly.

"We'll take care of them, I promise," Dada assured him. "But right now, we need to take care of Ed. He's hurt."

"D-Did Al g-go potty?" I cried weakly.

"Don't worry about Al," Dada told me gently while Al nodded.

"Yes, I did," Al said proudly.

"You did well, Al," Dada praised, Al smiling. I smiled weakly at him and gave him a thumbs up with my good hand.

"Good job," I encouraged, Al smiling and putting his left thumb in his mouth. I saw his eyes get wide and he scurried to Dada again and I figured Vanessa was back.

"The car's running," _she_ announced. Dada nodded and we got in the car, my mind stuck on what Vanessa had nearly done. My burn wasn't that bad – just a superficial burn. I didn't need a burn unit after all, something Vanessa made sure everyone knew _she_ suspected from the start. Once we got home, I gave the singed stockings to Dada and with a heavy heart I suggested that we put them away for safe keeping. Dad made sure that was what I wanted, and I said yes, even though it wasn't. I didn't _want_ to lose that tradition, but I was terrified that if we put them up, Vanessa would throw them away or burn them while we were all at school and work and that'd be it. One of the only things I own that Mom made completely on her own and gave to me would be gone forever, just like her. The thought of that was too much for me to handle. I had already lost her, so the idea of losing everything that kept me close to Mom was terrifying. It made my chest ache. So, after gently washing and drying them, doing his best to keep them from falling apart where the burned edges were the worst, Dada put them in a shoe box in his room, in a place only he knew about. That way, they'd be safe from Vanessa forever.

Unlike the stockings, though, Al and I were _not_ safe from _her_. _She_ never took time off, never gave us a break. It didn't matter what time of year it was or what was going on, _she_ was going to abuse us. Christmas became a nightmare after that, a time of year I dreaded. That same year, _she_ hid our presents, so they weren't under the tree Christmas morning like they always were, further cementing to me that I really was the bad boy _she_ said I was. The next year, s _he_ began to remove every cherished tradition we had. We stopped caroling, we didn't drive around to look at lights, and eventually the Christmas Eve pajamas stopped. We stopped doing that when I was about eight, though I can't remember exactly. What I _do_ remember is _her_ calling that tradition of ours a waste of time 'cause one or both of us never wake up in the pajamas we put on when we go to bed, therefore that tradition is a waste of time and money. Dada agreed, though I remember him chastising _her_ for the way _she_ brought it up. It was also that year that _she_ really started to say things to Al about how Santa wasn't real and he was a fucking idiot for thinking so. By the time I was eight, I quit believing in a lot of things. God, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and Santa were all causalities of my horrific childhood. Vanessa didn't let us do Easter egg hunts, I felt like at eight-years-old that if God was real, He had abandoned me, so I gave up on Him, and we never got visits from the Tooth Fairy. So, it was only natural that _she_ had drilled into me that not only was a horrible, bad boy who didn't deserve presents or love or to have my basic needs meet, but that Santa wasn't real. Kids at school had told me that, too, so it just became the norm. But for Al – oh, for Al, all that stuff was real.

Al, despite the beatings (both physical and emotional), never let go of that childhood innocence. He believed in everything a little kid typically does, though he tried to keep that hidden from Vanessa because _she_ didn't put up with his imagination at all. Despite unanswered prayers and a lack of quarters under pillows, despite everyone of our family's traditions being taken away from us, he continued to believe that there was… _magic_ out there. I don't know how else to put it. You know how little kids just think everything is so amazing and new and they don't know how the world works yet, so it is kinda like magic to him? I wasn't like that anymore by the time I was eight, but Al was. Despite everything he's been through, all the surgeries when he was a baby and a little kid, Mom dying, the beatings, and the emotional hell he was going through, he still saw the world like that. So, naturally, since Dada wasn't around and didn't even know what s _he_ was doing, it was my responsibility to protect him. It up to _me_ to make sure Al continued to see the world that way – that the world was good and that people were good. I needed to keep Al safe, and for me part of that was preserving that innocence he had miraculously retained through all of this.

That year, I can remember Dada was going to be gone in December until the week before Christmas. In elementary school, there aren't any finals or shit like that, so most of December is holiday parties and stuff. God, I hated those growing up 'cause kids would bring their parents and I would just sit there, wishing Dad could be there with me. I had really begun to hate the whole holiday season. Vanessa would throw away the gifts we did get as soon as Dada left on his next trip. Vanessa _tortured_ us during the holidays. From Halloween to the New Year, Vanessa ensured we were miserable. No trick-or-treating (we were bad boys and bad boys don't get to go trick-or-treating), no Thanksgiving crafts or deserts, and none of our Christmas traditions were allowed. Literally everything I looked forward to about Christmas was taken away from me, so I hated those stupid holiday parties. I hated hearing the other kids talk about seeing Santa (even the mean kids who helped to destroy my belief in him), I hated hearing them talk about the fun stuff their families would do, I hated all of it. But, when Al talked about that stuff, I listened. He _needed_ me to. He _needed_ me to be the person who assured him when he doubted that there was such a thing as Christmas magic and that was what made the reindeer fly. He _needed_ that. Sad thing is, looking back, I _needed_ that, too. I just didn't have it.

The day of my holiday party, I rode the bus home with Al and Winry. Winry was in my class that year along with Ling and Rose. They always tried to cheer me up because even as little kids, they noticed I was especially down during the holiday season. They didn't understand why, of course, but they saw it. Everyone did, even Dad. Dad just assumed I was missing Mom I think and yeah, I was, but that wasn't why I was depressed. Anyway, Al told me he had a present for me. Something he had made in his own holiday party. He was excited, something that was rare by then, especially when Dada wasn't home. Al was really starting to lose himself, and that's why it was so important to me that I somehow made sure that he _didn't_. I didn't want to lose Al and I felt like if he lost those parts of himself – his gentleness, his empathy, his ability to see the good in everyone, his silliness, his excitability – that I would lose him. So, I indulged him. I called him a good boy. I told him how excited I was to see what he had made me. That's when he told me there were actually two presents. I indulged again. I told him that was incredible. I told him he was a smart boy, a nice boy. The nicest little brother anyone could have. We got off the bus and held hands walking up to our house. The door was locked, but that wasn't unusual. We often needed to go through the back door to get in after school. So, we did, Vanessa waiting for us. Around this time, _she_ had started to search our backpacks to make sure we weren't sneaking home food as well as any notes home, failed tests, you know. Anyway, Al didn't want to give his up. He clung to it, begging for _her_ to let him give me the presents he made. I remember that _she_ screamed at him, ripped the backpacks out of his arms, and hit him across the face for good measure. _She_ unzipped the backpack and held up a clay deer, something Al had obviously made himself for me.

"Well, isn't this the ugliest thing I've ever seen," _she_ mocked, holding it up for us to see. We didn't say anything, and _she_ went on, "You can't do anything right. When will you open your fucking eyes and see that, you worthless little boy?" We just stared at _her_ , and obviously not giving _her_ the reaction _she_ wanted. Vanessa _wanted_ us to get upset, to plead, to cry, to yell. But we didn't. By then, we had learned that crying got us nowhere but a world of trouble and pain. So, since we weren't doing what _she_ wanted, _her_ face suddenly twisted in angry and in one quick, hard motion, _she_ threw the deer on the floor. Al gasped and covered his mouth with his hands, the deer breaking into several pieces. Vanessa stomped on the head of the little clay deer with _her_ shoe, crushing the clay beneath _her_ foot.

"There," _she_ said, "how's that?" Al shook his head, his eyes filling with tears. Vanessa tore through his folder, Al gasping again when _she_ pulled out a red piece of construction paper with the word "Brother" written on it in Al's childish, big handwriting.

"Round two," _she_ teased, Al sobbing silently beside me. _She_ unfolded the paper and cleared _her_ throat, beginning to read;

"Dear Brother, I know you stopped writing letters to Santa 'cause you don't think he's real. Well, I think he is, so I decided that I'd write him a letter for you. I want him to know that even though you haven't talked to him in a long time that you're still a good big brother and that you are nice to me all the time. Ed is the best big brother ever and I want you to bring him presents, Santa. Please don't be mad at him 'cause he doesn't talk to you anymore. I think Ed wants the new Pokémon game. I want that, too, but I haven't been a very good boy this year. I'm trying, but I haven't been very good. If you visit our house, we're trying are very hard to be good and make Dada proud of us. I still believe in you and I'll leave you some cookies on Christmas Eve. I don't really know what I want for Christmas, so I'll send another letter if I think of something. Love, Alphonse Elric." Vanessa's mouth twisted into a smile and s _he_ started laughing. I watched in horror as _she_ ripped up Al's letter and dropped the pieces, Vanessa approaching him. _She_ grabbed Al by the shirt collar and lifted him up, slamming him into the wall so hard, the pictures on the wall shook.

"You big, dumb, _baby_ ," _she_ mocked, Al squirming and whimpering a little. "I've told you a thousand times that there is no such thing as a fucking fat man flying around and giving little snot nosed brats like you gifts they don't deserve. You and your brother are _worthless_. You are _mistakes_. You don't deserve presents from anyone and you don't deserve to be here." Vanessa banged his head against the wall again, Al still struggling, but he was starting to struggle less.

"Ed already knows there's no such thing as Santa," Vanessa told him harshly, "it's about time you fucking grew up and realized it, too." Vanessa dropped him, Al falling on to the floor with a loud crash. I stood there and watched, not sure what to do. Getting in the middle would only make things worse, but I was scared. Vanessa was really mad for some reason and I didn't understand why. I still don't. Who gets mad at a little kid for believing in the stuff all little kids believe in? Who gets mad at a little kid who just wants to make sure his brother gets presents on Christmas morning? I guess the person who gets mad at that stuff is the person who gets mad at kids for spilling milk or getting sick or asking if they can eat. Vanessa kicked Al a couple times before yelling at us both to go upstairs and stand in front of the mirror. We did, not sure how long we'd be forced to stand there. Turned out, it would be all night.

Sometime around what was normally our bedtime, Al started sobbing almost silently and completely out of nowhere. He couldn't keep chanting "I'm a bad boy" because he was crying too hard. I stood there, not sure of what I should – or could – do. I hesitantly reached over and put my hand on his back, Al looking over at me with red eyes. I rubbed his back, Al sobbing until his thumb-sucking thumb drifted up to his mouth and he started sucking. But even then, he was crying. I was worried, so I asked in a whisper,

"What's the matter?"

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," he cried, voice muffled from the sobs and the thumb.

"For what?" I asked, confused.

"G-Gettin' us in tr-trouble," Al sobbed.

"It's okay," I whispered, trying to get him to calm down so we wouldn't get in trouble for not chanting "I'm a bad boy" over and over again into the mirror.

"I-I g-g-guess _sh-she's_ right," Al hiccupped miserably, sucking harder on his thumb. "Th-There's n-n-no S-Santa, is th-there? K-Kids at sch-school say th-th-that, but I d-didn't b-b-believe them." I sighed and pulled him into a hug.

"Who cares what they say?" I told him in a whisper, looking him in the face. "They're mean and they're wrong. Do you feel that stuff's true deep down?" Al nodded meekly, sniffling a little.

"Y-Yeah," Al replied softly.

"Then who cares?" I asked again. "If you think it's true, that's all that matters. Besides, I think Santa could be real. 'Cause, like, there's a lot of kids and they all get presents. And we always get Santa presents, so I think you're right."

"R-Really?" Al asked in a whisper. I smiled and nodded at him.

"Yes," I whispered back. "But, we gotta keep it our secret, okay?"

"Why?" Al questioned.

"'Cause _she_ thinks we're liars and _she_ doesn't believe in that stuff," I told him seriously. I didn't believe in really anything at that point, but it was easier to pretend I did and act like it was a secret between the two of us so that Al could keep believing until he naturally grew out of it and not have that taken away from him the same way it was taken from me. If it was an Elric brother secret, Al would keep it and not talk about it. He would "put it to bed" so to speak and we'd avoid another incident like what we went through that afternoon. It would be his most precious secret, a secret between him and me that magic was real and it was okay to think it was.

"So… so it's secret 'cause _she_ doesn't believe?" Al whispered and I nodded.

"Yeah," I confirmed. " _She_ gets mad when we talk about the stuff _she_ doesn't think is real. If we keep it secret from _her_ , _she_ can't get mad." Al frowned, a thumb still in his mouth, and he nodded.

"Okay," he agreed, a serious look on his face. "I'll keep it a secret, Brother, I promise. Cross my heart."

"Good boy," I praised, Al smiling weakly. We continued to chant the four horrible words and I knew I needed to do _something_ to help Al really see that there really could be magic in the world. But what? If I made anything at school, _she_ would take it away and rip it up before I could give it to him. Then, I got an idea. What if I typed him a letter from Santa himself, gave it to Winry and have Granny put it in our mailbox right when Dada came home? That way, _she_ couldn't find it and get rid of it before Dad saw it and Al would get that warm, fuzzy feeling you only get when you're little and something happens that you just can't explain. That would keep Al safe and happy. I grinned and kept talking, a little spark of Christmas joy coming to life in me for the first time in three years.

It took some coordination, but I did it. My third-grade teacher helped me type and format a letter that looked like it came from the North Pole. Winry took it home with her the day Dada was due to be home and promised to give it to Granny. That day, I rode the bus home, bustling with excitement. I couldn't wait to see the look on Al's face when he got the letter. I couldn't wait to see how happy get got when he saw that he got a letter from a person Vanessa was trying so hard to convince him wasn't real and that he was an idiot for believing it. We got home, Dada's car in the driveway already. I gasped and hurried inside, Al hurrying behind me, and calling for Dada. He came out of the kitchen and smiled broadly, opening his arms wide for us. We both ran over and hugged him, Dada scoping us both up in his arms and lifting us off the ground.

"I missed you," he said softly, kissing each of us on the hair. "It's so hard to be away from you so close to Christmas." We both nodded.

"Can we please put the tree up tonight?" I asked, practically begging.

"Oh, sure," Dad replied. "I'm a little surprised Vanessa didn't get it up sooner." I shrugged in his arms, Al resting his head on Dad's chest.

"Um, have you checked the mail yet?" I asked him anxiously, Vanessa walking in from the garage.

"No," Dad answered. "Want to join me, boys?"

"Oh, I can get it," Vanessa told him and I instantly blurted,

"No!" Vanessa glared at me, Dada chuckling softly at me.

"The boys love to help, you know," he told _her_. "We'll get it. It's no problem." Vanessa put on a fake smile and nodded.

"Sounds good," _she_ said cheerfully, _her_ eyes burning a hole in me. I didn't care, though. Granny was supposed to drop off the letter on her way home from picking Winry up from school that day. That meant it should be there already because we were one of the last stops on our bus and when Granny picked Winry up, she always beat us home by a good ten minutes. Dada carried us outside and walked to the mailbox, opening it and getting everything out. I squirmed happily, the letter I had crafted right on top. Dad read it and his brow furrowed.

"Huh," he commented, walking back to the house, "there's a letter for you, Al, with no return address."

"Me?" Al questioned, my heart pounding with excitement. I was so excited that I could barely keep my mouth shut. I grinned and giggled softly, Al asking, "Who would send me mail?"

"I don't know," Dad answered, walking inside and to the living room, "but we'll open it first and find out." Dad sat down, each of us on his lap, when Vanessa hurried into the living room.

" _Al_ has mail?" _She_ questioned. Dada nodded and Vanessa asked, "Is it the school?" Dada shook his head.

"No, it doesn't have a return address," Dad told _her_ , opening the envelope. _She_ frowned, a hand on _her_ hip.

"And you're going to open it?" _She_ questioned harshly.

"Well, yes," Dad replied. "I want to know what it is so if it is a scam of some kind, I can properly report it." Vanessa huffed and Dada pulled out the letter. I was full of silent excitement as I watched Dad read it, a smile spreading across his face.

"Well now," Dada commented warmly. "This is very interesting."

"What?" Al asked softly. "What is it? Am I in trouble?" Dad smiled at him and shook his head.

"Quite the opposite, I'd say," Dad told him. Al's little brow furrowed, and Dad cleared his throat; "My dearest Alphonse, I haven't heard from you yet this year and I wanted to write you to check in on you. I have heard that there are people who want you to stop believing in Christmas magic, but I assure you that it is very real. As a grown-up, you'll see it less and less, but it's there. It's in every present and every cup of hot chocolate and every moment you spend with your family. Christmas magic comes from children like you, Alphonse, who believe with their whole heart that it is real. You have been a very good boy this year and don't worry about Edward – he is just a little older than you, but he still loves Christmas even if he doesn't believe in me anymore. I know he's been good, too, and I'll be sure to visit your house this year. Please leave me the cookies you always leave me. Your mother's recipe. Those are my favorite of all the cookies I get on Christmas. Keep believing, Alphonse. There's nothing wrong with believing in a little Christmas magic. Yours truly, Santa Claus." Al sat still for a second before a huge smile spread across his face.

"Wow," he breathed, taking the letter from Dad. " _Wow_." That was all he could say. Al was absolutely amazed that somehow, this letter got to him. Al sniffled, reading the letter again silently, tears welling up in his eyes.

"You okay, Alphie?" Dada asked him gently. Al nodded and wiped his eyes on the back of his hands.

"Yeah, uh-huh," Al replied. I was smiling, absolutely _thrilled_ that I was able to make Al so happy. I remember tugging on Dada's arm and whispering in his ear so Al couldn't hear,

"My teacher helped me write this an' Granny dropped it off for us." Dada gave me a tight side hug, Al still in awe of his letter. Did this moment make all the pain of the last couple years go away? No, of course not. Did it make me happy during the holiday season again? No, not in the slightest. What did was give all the courage to continue to be a little kid, a kid who still believed in not only magic, but who believed the world was a good place. Vanessa was mad after this. The New Year was brought in with pain and tears, but whenever it got rough, I would close my eyes and think about this moment, a moment where I made Al feel like he was normal and the world really was a good place. And despite all the other shit I went through during the abuse, this is one of my favorite Christmas memories I have.

"Ed!" I'm in my room doing homework when I hear Dada calling me and knocking on my door. He opens it and peeks in, smiling at me.

"What's up?" I ask. Dad grins and simply says,

"It's time." I spring up and hurry to the door, Dad and I going downstairs. Christmas music is playing as we walk down the stairs, Al rummaging through the Christmas box. Lucy is fluffing the branches of our Christmas tree and I grin. I love Christmas. There was a period in my life where I didn't, but I love it now. All those special things we used to do – hot chocolate, driving around the see the lights, and Christmas pajamas – we started doing again when _she_ got locked up. We get read to sleep on Christmas Eve again, Dada gently reading us Christmas stories and it honestly feels magical. Christmas feels magical again. Now, our family's growing. Lucy's in our family and she doesn't try to take our traditions away like Vanessa did. She embraces them. She loves the stockings Mom made by hand, the ones I got burned to save. She loves hearing that story of me arranging a Santa letter for Al and sometimes, I think that Lucy sees the world the same way Al does. Al's older now. He doesn't believe in Santa or the Tooth Fairy anymore but what he does believe is that the world is a good place. He believes in people. He believes they're good. And, in some ways, Al still believes in that magic he always had, it just manifests differently. Lucy sees the world the same way. She sees the good in everything. She and Al get along really well.

"Look, Brother," Al says showing me our stockings. "It's time to put them up." I nod and hurry over, Al handing Mom's to me. I take it and walk over to the fireplace. I put the stocking up on the hook, Dada standing next to me. He hangs his own stocking up, followed by Lucy (we got her one), then I put mine up next to hers, and Al hangs his up next to mine. I take a step back, the smell of hot chocolate and Mom's chocolate chip cookies in the air. My family decorates the tree, laughing and telling stories and I smile. Christmas is here. Christmas is good again.


	12. Chapter 12: Nosy Teacher

_Many abused children cling to the hope that growing up will bring escape and freedom…. [they are] still a prisoner of [their] childhood; attempting to create a new life, [they] reencounter the trauma. - Judith Lewis Herman_

* * *

I was in second grade when I had Mrs. George. _God_ , I loved her. She was always so nice to me, even when I smelled bad or didn't pay attention to her or acted out in her class. When the abuse was going on, I could be a pretty bad kid and I know that. I would say bad words, interrupt my teacher, throw things, just stupid little kid stuff. I had teachers who would call home while simultaneously calling the child abuse hotline because I was filthy and covered in bruises. They just never showed me the same love, kindness, and patience Mrs. George did. She rarely called home, even when I was acting out, so I really liked her. Not calling home meant that Vanessa wouldn't know about my bad behavior in Mrs. George's class, so she was actually indirectly protecting me from beatings. Mrs. George also would bring snacks to class, like, all the time, which I really liked when Dad was gone. When she did that, I was allowed to eat. Mrs. George was, like, the nicest person. She was tall and always dressed nice and had this soothing voice that could calm me down no matter what. Other teachers I had looked at me funny or ignored me. Other teachers thought I was misbehaved or a bad kid, but she never did. She seemed to understand me on a level no other grown-up did when I was that little. All she wanted to do was help and that, of course, was very problematic.

I'm pretty sure that Mrs. George is the elementary school teacher who called the child abuse hotline the most. Al had her the year after I did, so I know she called a lot. Al was in her class when the trunk happened. I can remember a crisis social worker coming to our house a day or two after Al was let out. He didn't look hurt – just sick – and he was too tired and out of it to answer questions. The social worker tried to talk to me, but I literally was too scared to say anything. God, it's so horrible and selfish of me but I was scared that _I'd_ get locked in the trunk, too, if I dared to say anything. As a kid, I didn't realize that when the cops or a social worker came over it was 'cause someone hotlined us. I think I started making that connection in fourth or fifth grade when Teacher began hotlining pretty frequently. Sometimes, a hotline wouldn't result in anything. I learned at the trial that between 2007 and 2009, the time Al and I were in Mrs. George's class, our family got hotlined more than twenty times. At least 12 of those was when I was her student, at least eight were when Al was. Only around five of those hotline calls resulted in a visit from either a crisis social worker or a cop. The ones that didn't got filed away someplace, with a note that basically would say the following:

" _A teacher of the boys in question called the child abuse hotline regarding suspicious injury. A note was made by whoever and no action will be taken at this time as there are no real concerns of child abuse in the home."_

Anytime a hotline did result in a visit, well, Al and I would get punished for it. It didn't matter if we pleaded and assured her we didn't say anything about what was going on at home. It didn't matter that we couldn't control what other people did. It didn't matter. We were bad, it was our fault, we had to be punished. Simple as that. Something ironic is that the trunk happened to Al in response to a hotline call made by Mrs. George. Someone visited and right after the visit was over, Vanessa beat Al so bad he couldn't go to school and a couple days later, he was in the trunk. I can't remember exactly why Mrs. George hotlined before the trunk. All I can really remember about the weeks leading up to the trunk was that Al was having lots of accidents (they would flare up during extreme stress despite him having that surgery when he was little) but that's about it. Details like that get lost the older I get. My guess is that Al said something or wasn't acting right, so she called. It warranted a visit I guess according to whoever took the call, and then they had to visit again a week later when Mrs. George got concerned when Al was out of school for so long. Little did she know that her hotline call was what caused Al to be gone for so long.

I don't wanna sound like I blame Mrs. George, Teacher, or anyone else for hotlining 'cause I don't. All they were trying to do was help us. Thing is, the same year I was in Mrs. George's second grade class, Al told his first grade teacher we were being abused. They called CPS, the cops came, pictures were taken, and Vanessa got away with it because she managed to convenience CPS, the people who had the real power to help us, that it was Al who was lying. CPS, DCFS, anyone who could really help believed so strongly that Al, a scared little kid, was a liar. That's why so many hotline calls got "noted" but never followed up on. That's how our DCFS file got so thick. It's full of reports and documents on hotline calls that never went anywhere. It's pretty disgusting, honestly. Anyways, I don't blame them. As a kid, I didn't understand why we had those people come over all the time. Vanessa and Dada would fight about it, though. I remember. There was one fight, and I can't remember how old I was when it happened, but I know I was still in elementary school, where Dad got really mad and asked,

"If nothing's wrong, why are they calling the hotline?" I was standing outside the door and it's one of the only times I can remember Vanessa being at a loss for words. All she could say was,

"I don't know." She managed to blame Al; I remember that. She said that since Al had lied once, maybe he was lying still. Dada had a talk with Al. Al didn't understand at first. Dad kept asking questions about what he'd talk to his teacher about. Al would answer pretty innocently; he said he'd talk to his teacher about school, our hamster, me… kid stuff. He wasn't giving Dada the answers he wanted, though, so I remember Dada putting his hands on Al's shoulders and asking,

"Are you still lying about Vanessa hurting you and Edward?" He just asked Al outright and Al's little bottom lip started trembling. He whimpered a little and shook his head, tears in his eyes.

" _N-No_ ," Al cried desperately. "I don't lie, Dada, I don't! Wh-Why d-do you al-always think I do?" I watched from a distance, Dad just hanging his head. He didn't know what to do. I realize that now. I know now that Dad had his doubts – about _everything_. He never knew what to think. Was Vanessa beating us? Was Al a liar? He didn't know. He was being manipulated to the point where he couldn't make sense of anything. He wanted so desperately to give us the family he thought we needed that he was easily manipulated by Vanessa so he couldn't see the truth. And that's really scary.

In second grade, Mrs. George always treated me like I was the most special student in her class because I guess she knew I needed it. She would let me pass out papers, she'd let me stay in her room at the end of the day up to the very last second because I didn't want to go home, and she'd let me stay inside when the other kids went out to recess. I trusted her. I told her things – things I really probably shouldn't have said. Things that probably got hotlined. I mean, I would never outright tell her that I was being hit at home, but I said things. I remember there was one time in the fall where I didn't want to go to recess. I wet my pants that day and the other kids, besides Winry and Ling, made fun of me. Winry and Ling tried to get me to go outside with them, but I refused. I didn't wanna. I was scared because the nurse called home about the accident. It happened during reading time where I was too scared to speak up and tell Mrs. George what I needed. At home, when Dada wasn't there, I'd get hurt or locked up if I told Vanessa anything and as a little kid, I didn't completely understand the rules at school and the rules at home were different. I guess the nurse was concerned that I was nearly eight and still having accidents at school, so she called home. Left a message that basically said to take me to the doctor because something might be wrong. Vanessa wouldn't like that, but she couldn't get to me at school. I was safe, for the time being. Anyways, I asked what I could do to help while I stayed in the class during recess.

"Hmm, well, why don't we get the counting cubes out?" Mrs. George suggested. "We'll be doing some addition and subtraction after lunch."

"Okay," I said softly.

"You feeling okay, Edward?" Mrs. George asked. I shrugged.

"I guess," I replied, briefly looking up at her. My chin quivered a little and I hung my head. "I'm sorry." I felt her put a hand on my shoulder.

"For what?" She questioned gently. I sniffled, my throat tightening up. I was embarrassed. I wet my pants in her class again and it was almost a good thing. I know that sounds weird, but here's why. Dad was gone and I wasn't allowed to change my clothes or take a bath at home. But, if I had an accident at school, I got to wear clean clothes which would briefly make me feel better. But then all I'd feel is humiliated and shame. I was ashamed that I was happy I wet my pants since it meant I got to change. The nurse would always give me some wet wipes to clean up with, so I also got to be fairly clean. It was humiliating, but it was my life. It was the only life I had known for almost two years at that point.

"W-W… Wetting my pants," I told her, my voice shaking.

"It's okay," Mrs. George comforted, patting my back. "It's okay. I'm not angry with you. Do you still want to help me?" I nodded miserably.

"Y-Yeah," I hiccupped. We started setting up the counting blocks and I felt myself asking, "Is it normal for kids my age to do that?"

"Do what?" She asked.

"Um, have accidents or wet their bed?" I clarified softly.

"It happens to everyone," she answered and I sighed. I'd heard that one before. We kept working and after a while I asked,

"Mrs. George? Is it normal for your stepmom to spray you and your little brother with the hose when you wet your bed?" Mrs. George stopped suddenly and looked at me.

"What?" She questioned softly.

"Is it normal?" I asked quietly, playing with one of the counting blocks in my hand.

"I'd have to say no, it's not normal," she answered gently. "Edward, is that happening to you and your brother?" I shrugged. I knew I shouldn't say anything else 'cause I had said too much already. I knew I couldn't confirm or deny it at this point. No matter what I said, she already knew that we were getting sprayed with the hose. I already spilled the beans. It was out in the open now. Nothing I did or said would change that. So, I shrugged and just said,

"Doesn't matter." Mrs. George looked really sad and she just gave me a hug. I didn't do anything at first, but after a few seconds I hugged her back. I hugged her so hard and she whispered in my ear,

"It _does_ matter, Edward. _You_ matter." I didn't do anything but start crying. I cried like a little baby, Mrs. George hugging me tighter. She ended up picking me up and pacing in her classroom and even had to call Dad to get me to calm down. But that wasn't the only time I asked her a question about what was normal.

A few weeks later, I didn't want to go to recess because I was exhausted. Dada had been gone for about a week and Al was sick. Vanessa didn't give a shit, so I was taking care of him when I was at home. On top of being sick, Vanessa was still pissed at him for telling his teacher about the abuse, so he was her main abuse target during that time. He'd gotten beaten super bad and wasn't at school. She… she used a knife on him. A fucking _knife_ on a six-year-old boy. It wasn't, like, stab wounds or anything, but still. She only used knives on us a couple of times during the abuse and it was usually on me, but she was seriously angry at Al, so he was the one who got it. Every time I'd go home after school, I'd have to change his bandages and take care of him. I was so tired and just didn't have the energy to go outside and play with the rest of the kids. Not that anyone besides Winry and Ling would play with me anyways. I was helping Mrs. George organize some things when I asked,

"Mrs. George, is it normal for a big brother to take care of their little brother?" Mrs. George looked over at me.

"In what way, Ed?" She asked, trying to get some clarification.

"Um… like, getting him dressed an' taking care of him when he's sick an' cleaning up when he has an accident an' taking care of his scratches when they bleed."

"Your brother is bleeding?" Mrs. George asked, clearly shocked. She couldn't hide it. I didn't pick up on that as a little kid, though, so I just nodded.

"Yeah," I said casually.

"How did he get hurt?" Mrs. George asked.

"Well…." I trailed off and stared at my lap. What should I say? I wasn't sure what I could tell her. I knew I was an idiot for even asking and I knew I had dug myself a pretty deep hole that I probably couldn't climb out of.

"Edward?" Mrs. George prompted gently.

"A… a knife." I answered in a whisper. I could feel her patting my back as I started shaking.

"How did that happen?" She pressed urgently. I shook my head.

"I-I… I… I can't say. It's a secret." I told her softly, not looking her in the eye.

"Ed, it's not normal for you to take care of your little brother that way," Mrs. George explained. "It's fine to help, but your dad and your stepmom need to be the ones to take care of him like that. Does that make sense?" I shrugged.

"My dad's not home," I told her sadly. "An' my stepmom doesn't care about Al. I don't know why. Al's really cute an' nice an' smart. When we were babies, my mom took care of us when we were sick or got hurt or something. I miss her."

"Your mother died, right?" Mrs. George asked and I nodded miserably.

"Y-Yeah," I cried softly. "Sh-She died when I w-w-was five. My baby b-brother gets sick a lot an' he's had lots of surgeries. I, uh, gotta take care of him when Dada's not home since Mom's gone."

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Mrs. George told me. "That had to have been hard."

"She had cancer," I went on. "It was in her insides, like, the part that helps make babies. When I was little, I would always get scared that… that Al was gonna get cancer, too. He didn't, but it was scary."

"You said Al was hurt and you were the one taking care of him," Mrs. George began and I nodded. "You said he was sick, too, right?" I nodded again and Mrs. George continued, "Is it his tummy? What's wrong with him? Is he at school?"

"Yeah, Al's throwing up," I answered. "He's hot all the time and isn't at school." I fidgeted and looked up at her. "You gotta promise not to say anything. Promise, okay?"

"Ed," she sighed, looking me right in the eye. I stared up at her, begging her silently to not tell anyone what I told her. I was scared that if she did, Vanessa would only hurt Al worse. I didn't want that to happen 'cause to me, that would have been _my_ fault 'cause _I_ told my teacher things I never should have told her. Mrs. George swallowed and shook her head, patting mine.

"Are you hungry, sweetie?" She asked me. I nodded, but had tears in my eyes.

"Yeah, but I don't got anything to eat," I said, embarrassed.

"That's okay," she comforted. "I brought an extra peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Do you want that?" I nodded and she got it for me, making me feel more cared for than I had in a while.

After I told her about Al, I remember that I stayed in Mrs. George's classroom right until the busses were gonna leave 'cause I just didn't wanna go home. When she would tell me it was time to leave, I'd usually start crying 'cause I didn't want to leave. I was safe there and wanted to stay. I remember there was a time in January that year around my dad's birthday. I was in the classroom during recess and decided I wanted to make Dada something. He was coming home the next day, so I wanted to make something special for him for his birthday. Mrs. George printed me a sheet off the internet that was all about dads. It asked questions like, "What do you like the most about your dad?", and "What makes your dad special?". Stuff like that. I answered all of them, made him a card, and even made him, like, this little coupon for special time with just him and me. On the line where I could write things (it was supposed to be, like, what I'd do so we could spend time together and I think it was meant for chores and stuff) I remember writing,

 _I'll be a good boy._

When the day was over, I walked with Winry and Ling outside. Winry knew it was Dada's birthday, so she said Granny wanted to take us all out to eat that weekend to celebrate. Al was waiting for me near the front door and I hurried over to him.

"Al!" I cried, Al turning toward me. A big smile spread across his face and he said,

"Brother! Guess what?" He was bouncing up and down and I asked,

"What?" Al giggled a little.

"I made a book for Daddy's birthday," he told me.

"Hi, Alphie," Winry greeted. Al waved at her and hid behind me as Ling got closer.

"Al, say hi to Ling," I instructed gently. Al got shy around people he didn't know well and when he was little, he didn't know Ling that well. Al peaked out from behind me and waved, Ling smiling at him.

"Hi, Al," he said. I smiled and hugged Al tight, lifting him off the ground.

"You're gonna miss the bus again," Winry told me, her hands on her hips. I looked at her.

"We'll walk," I replied, not caring if I missed the bus. Missing the bus meant not seeing Vanessa and that was okay with me. We walked outside and Al gasped, pointing to the crosswalk.

"Daddy's here!" He cried, running away from him. I followed him, spotting Dada talking to someone near the crosswalk. It was my teacher, Mrs. George.

"Dada! Daddy!" I yelled, Dad looking over at me. He smiled and held his arms out for us. We ran right into them and he scooped us up in a big hug.

"Did you miss me?" He chuckled as we both nodded. He picked us up and kissed us all over.

"A lot," I answered, Al nodding.

"Yeah, a lot," Al agreed.

"You're home early," I commented happily, laying my head on his chest.

"I missed you two so much that I had to come home a day early so I could see my boys on my birthday," Dad told us. We wished him a very loud happy birthday and I looked over at Mrs. George who was smiling at me, but I remember she looked sorta sad.

"What's the matter?" I asked her.

"Nothing, Edward," she replied. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" I nodded and she walked away. Dada carried us to the car and helped Al get buckled in.

"Dada?" I asked as he got in the car.

"What's up, Ed?" He replied in question.

"What were you talking to Mrs. George about?" I asked curiously.

"She mentioned to me how sweet and helpful you are," Dad said warmly. "She said you've been skipping recess to help her in the classroom. Is that right, Ed?" I nodded.

"Yeah," I answered. "I wanna help."

"You're such a sweet boy," Dada praised. "I just don't want you to miss out on recess every day, okay? Can you promise Daddy you'll go and play tomorrow with your friends?" I nodded.

"Yeah, okay," I agreed. Once we got home, I proudly presented what I made to Dad. He got a little choked up and hugged me tight. He told me how much he loved what I made and when he was done loving on me, Al showed him the book he made. It was a book about Dad and how Dad was a superhero since Dada takes care of us and stuff. Again, Dada gave Al a big hug and told him how nice his gift was. I could feel Vanessa's eyes on me, but I ignored her. Dada was home – she couldn't hurt me. That's what I thought since that was normally the case. But that night, I would learn how wrong I was.

That night was one of the scariest things I've ever lived through and I don't talk about it much. I've never talked about it in group, not even when I was telling my story. I've talked to Dr. Hughes about it, but that's it. Well, I told Dada it happened since he had a totally different memory of that night. Anyways, I was sound asleep that night until I woke up needing to go potty. I froze, though, when I saw someone standing over me. I sat right up, but they pushed me back on my bed.

"You've been talking with your teacher, haven't you, shit head?" They said in a harsh whisper and I knew it was Vanessa. I knew better than to lie, so I nodded.

"Y-Yeah, I'm s-s-sorry," I whimpered.

"What's the rule, Ed?" Vanessa demanded.

"I don't talk about what happens to anyone," I answered. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again!"

"Too late, you bad boy," she scolded angrily. I noticed she was holding a pillow and my eyes locked on to it. I was scared. What was she gonna do to me? I tried sitting up again and she held me down with one arm. I tried to scream but before I could, Vanessa put the pillow over my face and kept it there with a lot of force. I started screaming, but I was already struggling to breathe and the pillow muffled any sound I managed to make. I trashed around and tried to fight her, but she was way stronger than I was. I was getting dizzy. I peed all over myself as she slowly suffocated me.

"I can't trust you," she whispered as I continued to fight, but I was getting weaker. I was going to die, and I was very aware of that. I was crying, forcing myself to stay awake when I heard Al mumble,

"Brother?" Vanessa's hold on me weakened for a second and I kicked her hand as hard as I could. She released me and I bolted out of bed, gasping for air. I stumbled to Dada's room and barged right in, yelling,

" _Dada!_ " Dad sat right up in bed. I was standing in the middle of the room, still panting a little, and I just broke down. I started wailing, Vanessa coming up behind me.

"He kicked me, Victor!" She cried angrily as I fell to my knees. I shook my head and just kept crying, Dada getting out of bed.

"What?" He asked, confused. "Vanessa, he's clearly terrified. It looks to me like you caught him during a night terror. He can't control what happens when he has one of those."

"Daddy?" I heard Al ask with a shaking voice from the hallway.

"What's the matter, Al?" Dad asked as I cried in the middle of his floor. I felt him pick me up and Al said,

"I had a bad dream," Al cried pathetically. "Someone was hurting Ed! I saw them! They held a pillow over his face so he couldn't breathe!"

"Sweetie," Dada sighed, Vanessa audibly huffing.

"That's ridiculous, Alphonse," she mocked.

"Vanessa, please," Dada said. "It was a nightmare, that's all. Come here, Al."

"D-Daddy!" I sobbed, "Daddy, I w-wet my bed!"

" _Shh_ , it's okay, little man," Dad comforted, rubbing my back. He picked Al up and continued to comfort me, Vanessa watching us the whole time. I don't know if she really wanted to kill me that night or send me a message. Regardless, it's something that haunts me even now.

Whatever the reason was that Vanessa smothered me with a pillow that night, it didn't stop me from sharing things with Mrs. George. I still stayed in class during recess a lot, I still hung out in her classroom after school and missed the bus, and I still shared little snippets so to speak of what my life was like at home. I'd ask her things – like, is it normal to be chained to a doghouse or is it normal for your stepmom to burn your hand on the stove. Shit like that. Shit that I think I _knew_ wasn't normal but needed the confirmation of that. As a kid, I really didn't understand what was and wasn't normal. Like, I think everyone kinda has an inborn idea of what's right and what's wrong. It's that gut feeling you get when something just doesn't _feel_ right. You can't always explain it, but you can feel it. I sorta knew that Vanessa hitting us wasn't right. Mom and Dad never treated us like that and as far as I knew, my house was the only one that was like that. But, when you're that little and you're being beat all the time all while that person is blaming you for it, you start to question things. You start to wonder if what they're saying is true and you lose that sense of what's normal. Even though you always feel like it isn't right, you convince yourself it's just the norm. So, I probed my second grade teacher for answers. What I was looking for, though, I can't really explain.

The one time I remember Mrs. George actually being the one asking questions was toward the end of that school year. Dada's trips were getting longer and what that meant was the beatings and abuse only got worse. With each trip came new games, harder hits, and longer periods without food or bathing. This particular time, Vanessa had tied me and Al up to the legs of our beds. She tied us to the bed by our wrists with really tough rope and bound our ankles, too. We were kept there all weekend and at night when we did go to school. If we didn't go to school, she'd just keep us tied up all day. She did that the entire time Dada was gone, even after she wasn't beating us anymore. While we were healing, I still looked pretty rough. I was filthy and pale with swollen eyes and a busted lip. I had burns and bruises on my arms and tummy and I just looked _awful_. There's no other way to describe it. I was going to school even when I looked like that. I told people I flipped off my bike or other stories like that to cover Vanessa's ass. The first time I showed up to school looking like that, I remember Mrs. George stood up at her desk and watched me walk in. The whole class was staring at me and I sat down, Winry tapping me on my shoulder.

"What happened?" Winry asked worriedly from behind me. "How'd you get so hurt?"

"Nothing," I muttered, Mrs. George staring at me from the front of the room. I slid down in my chair, trying to hide from her as she continued looking at me.

"Um…." I heard my teacher say softly before shaking her head and putting a fake smile on her face. "Good morning, everyone."

"Good morning, Mrs. George," everyone in the class greeted except for me. I watched Mrs. George fidget a little and she went to her desk.

"We're going to be going on the train of thought this morning, everyone," she announced. The train of thought is a phrase she would use when she was deviating from her lesson plan. I picked up on that as the year went on and I sat up a little. I was wondering what in the world she could be planning. She pulled out some art supplies and explained,

"Let's work on building stories this morning. I've got some materials up at the front that you can use to brainstorm a story that we'll write later today. I want everyone to create at least one character, a setting, and a goal for the story. You can use whatever you want to brainstorm. Use a spiderweb, a graph, or use your own creativity to come up with away to think of story ideas. We'll be working for about an hour, then we'll take a break to talk about grammar. Get to work, guys." The class erupted in an excited chatter, kids getting up and hurrying to the front. I stood up, too, Winry telling me,

"I already have a character. Lucy the llama. I made her up."

"Yeah, I know," I answered softly, Mrs. George walking over as Ling said,

"A llama?" Winry nodded.

"Yeah! She's a brave llama who guides travelers through the mountains in South America. My mom and dad traveled a lot before they died and told me stories of riding on llamas through the mountains."

"Those are alpacas," Ling informed her, Winry's face turning sour.

"No, they use llamas, too," Winry argued, Mrs. George putting her hand on my shoulder.

"Ed, can I talk to you?" Mrs. George asked me. I whimpered and started shaking.

"Wh-What did I do?" I asked pathetically, my chin quivering. "I was gonna w-work on the story, h-honest! I just had to wait my t-turn! I'll be good!"

" _Shh_ ," Mrs. George comforted, Winry and Ling no longer arguing. "It's okay. You're not in trouble, I promise. I just need to talk to you." I swallowed hard as she took my hand. We walked to what I think was a conference room and she shut the door. She sat down and I sat down across from her.

"What d-did I do?" I asked again, starting to cry. "I did… I d-didn't mean t-to do anything w-wrong."

"Edward," Mrs. George addressed gently, leaning forward a little, "I promise you that you are not in trouble. I just wanted to ask you how you got so hurt." I shifted a little.

"I, uh, um…." I stammered, starting to sweat. I pulled my sleeves down over the obvious rope marks on my wrist and shrugged. "I can't remember."

"You can't remember?" Mrs. George asked softly. I nodded, squirming, and she went on, "Ed, it sort of looks like you got in a fight, but I don't imagine that you're the type of kid that goes around getting in fights." I just stared at her, not sure what to say. All I could think about was earlier that school year when Al's teacher asked him what was going on at home and he actually told her. I could still picture how rough he looked after Vanessa got through with him and was scared. I didn't know what to do.

"I… fell off my bike," I lied. "I was riding too fast and hit the sidewalk really hard."

"Edward," Mrs. George sighed and I swallowed nervously. "Listen to me. I know you didn't get those black eyes from falling off your bike. I'm only trying to help you, honey. If someone is hurting you at home, you can tell me." I shook my head, my chin quivering. I was shaking and felt sick to my stomach.

"I don't feel good," I whined. "Can I go to the nurse?" Mrs. George sighed, pulling out her cellphone.

"You're telling me no one at home hurts you?" Mrs. George questioned and I shrunk away from her, whimpering. "You're telling me everything's fine at home and that's why you're always hungry and tired and dirty and covered in bruises? Is that what you're telling me?" I shook my head and threw up all over her, Mrs. George standing up quickly.

"I-I… I'm s-sorry," I whimpered, my nose stinging. I was panting, doubled over in the chair, and started crying. "I-I'm sorry! I j-just c-can't s-s-say anything! I g-g-gotta keep Al safe!"

"Safe from what?" Mrs. George pressed, the front of her dress cover in throw up.

"I c-c-can't!" I wailed, hiding my face in my hands. "I-I c-can't!" Mrs. George nodded and picked up her cell phone. I saw her dialing and I got frantic – "Who are you calling?! You can't! I'm sorry!"

" _Shh_ ," she shushed, answering, "Mr. Elric? Hi, it's Mrs. George. No, he's very upset. I don't think he's feeling well. Do you know if he fell off his bike over the weekend? Oh, you're out of town? No, he's fine, just a little banged up and he threw up in class. Sure, of course." Mrs. George handed me the phone and I took it, croaking,

"Daddy?"

"Hey, Ed," Dada greeted gently. "Are you okay? I heard you're hurt. Vanessa didn't tell me you fell off your bike. Are you okay? Is your tummy upset?"

"I…." I trailed off, swallowing more puke, "I don't feel so good, Dada. My tummy hurts."

"Mrs. George and your school nurse have called me a lot this year about tummy aches," Dad commented. "I suppose we should see a doctor, buddy."

"Yeah," I replied softly, knowing that would never happen. "Are you coming home soon?"

"End of the week, little man," Dada answered.

"Oh," I sighed. "But, um, me and Al miss you a lot."

"And I miss you boys a lot," Dad replied. "But I'm working, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Listen, why don't you go to the school nurse and see what she can do for your tummy? I'll see if Vanessa or Granny can come and get you."

"Okay," I said, staring at Mrs. George who was watching me carefully. I think maybe she was trying to figure out who was the one hurting me. I don't really know. All I knew was that she was on to me.

"I'm sorry, but I need to go," Dada told me. "Can I talk to your teacher before I go?"

"Uh-huh," I answered, sniffling.

"Don't cry, my sweet boy," Dada comforted. "I'll see you in a couple days. I love you, Edward."

"I love you, too," I replied, handing Mrs. George the phone. I sat there, covered in sweat, puke, and shivering, Mrs. George saying,

"Mr. Elric? Hi again. I'll be sure he goes to see the nurse. Do you travel for work a lot? Oh, really? Interesting. You know, Ed talks about you all the time. You and his little brother are probably his favorite things to talk about. Yes, yes, he's a very sweet kid. I'm not sure. Perhaps you should touch base with your wife? Yes, okay. Thank you for your time. Bye-bye." Mrs. George hung up and looked at me.

"C'mon, honey. Let's walk to the nurse." I nodded and slid out of the chair. I walked over to her and she put a hand on my back.

"I'm sorry I got throw up on you," I told her, ashamed.

"That's all right," she assured me. "Let's just get you feeling better." She walked me to the nurse and I watched her leave, knowing she was probably hotlining my family again.

Mrs. George never backed off, not while I was her student and not while Al was her student. She always checked up on us, always treated us kindly, and I know she was constantly calling the child abuse hotline. The two years Al and I were in her class, the abuse was pretty bad. It's not Mrs. George's fault. She knew something was wrong and was trying to help. I'm pretty sure that Mrs. George knew we were being abused, and I'm pretty sure she also knew it was Vanessa doing it. After it was all over and Vanessa was on trial, Mrs. George was there. She witnessed. She talked about how Al and I were in her class back to back and the sorts of things she saw. She talked about the bruises, the breakdowns, the tummy aches, the absences and how she called the hotline so many times. I also remember that while she was on the stage, she got upset and talked about how CPS failed us. She said there was overwhelming evidence of abuse and they essentially stood by and did nothing. She said she felt guilty that she couldn't do more, but I don't think she realized how much she really did. Sure, every time she called the hotline we got beat, but she also fed us. She hugged us and called us special. Mrs. George loved us and that was an incredible thing, especially back then. I just wish her hotline calls could have helped us.


	13. Chapter 13: Sleeping Over

Hi, everyone! I wanted to jump in before you get reading to remind you all to be safe! I know things are hard right now, but hang in there! For those of you who do not know, I am a registered nurse and I work in a children's hospital, so I don't see a lot of COVID, but I have been effected by the shelter in place orders, policy changes, etc. I live alone with my cats, so sheltering in place and social distancing have been a real challenge for me. I have been extremely lonely, work being my only source of social interaction. I have been working on several chapters of this story the last couple months, but it took me forever to choose one to actually finish, proof-read and post. All that basically to say that if you're struggling, please know you aren't alone. We seem to be slowly getting back to normal, but I know the world is going to be very different for a while. I will do my best to post every couple months and I hope this chapter distracts you from what's going on in the world right now :)

PS: As with most chapters, child abuse is discussed in this chapter.

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 _"You can recognize survivors of abuse by their courage. When silence is so very inviting, they step forward and share their truth so others know they aren't alone." - Jeanne McElvaney_

* * *

There are a lot of things I wanted when I was a kid. I wanted a safe house; a place where Al and I wouldn't get hit and we could just be ourselves. I wanted a warm, inviting place. A house I would love being in, not one I was terrified to be in. I wanted my mom. I wanted her to protect me since Dad wasn't. I wanted her to be there for me and love me. I wanted to hear her voice again, hug her again, and feel loved by her again. I wanted to go places; do the things the other kids all talked about and actually got to do. I wanted to play sports, go to county fairs, go to the beach, have parties, and sleepover at people's houses. I wanted more friends, more people I could trust and who would play with me. There were a lot of things I wanted, and I hardly got any of them. I was lucky when I got to take a bath or eat. All those things I wanted back then were nothing more than fantasies and I knew that, but I couldn't help but daydream about better things. That's what kids do, right? But even though I didn't get any of those things I wanted growing up, I had people who made me feel like I sorta had those things.

Teacher and Sig really looked out for me and Al. They didn't have to. They had no obligation to us and probably shouldn't have cared about us at all. But they did. We were more than Teacher's martial art students. We were like family to them. Almost overnight we became like family to them and they were like family to us. They cared. Like, they really actually cared about us. They would ask us if we were doing okay and how things were going at home and at school. They helped us with homework whenever we were at their house or whenever we'd call in tears and ask them to help. They played with us. Fed us. Bandaged our wounds. Bought us clothes and other presents. Kept us as safe as they could. Dad loved them as soon as he met them. Dad never really seemed to be weary of the two grown adults that Al and I were suddenly enamored with. He met them, talked to them, and trusted them almost immediately. That's part of why most people can't understand how Dada never knew what Vanessa was doing to us behind his back. He's usually a great judge of character. Anyways, Dad thought and hoped that Teacher's martial arts lessons could give us more confidence and help our self-esteem. He was cool with us spending time with them all the time. So, when Teacher offered to let us spend the night one weekend he was out of town, he agreed.

Sleeping over wasn't something I did as a kid. When I was really little, I'd have sleepovers with Nana and with Winry, but once the abuse started that all went out the window. I didn't have a lot of friends, but the ones I did have invited me to spend the night at their house a lot. Ling asked every New Year (and still does) and at least one other time every year. Winry asked once a week it felt like. Vanessa never let us. She wanted us at home where she could control us. Where she could abuse us. Whenever sleepovers were brought up, she would take the opportunity to mock us. She'd ask who would want bad boys to sleep at their house. Who would want boys who still pee in their beds to sleep at their house? Who would want boys how wake up screaming all the time to sleep at their house? Who would want dirty, disgusting boys at their house? Vanessa used to tell me Winry and Ling only asked out of pity or obligation. They didn't _really_ want me at their house. And I believed her. We both did. When Teacher made that offer, I didn't know what to think. I wasn't sure it would even happen. I remember asking Dad if we were really going to go and he asked me,

"Do you want to?" I nodded slightly. I was nine when Teacher first invited us to spend the night. The school year had just ended. I had just finished third grade and Al finished second grade with Mrs. George, one of the last teachers who was such an active, positive force in our lives. All I wanted was to feel like a normal kid and do things that normal kids do. That's why Teacher's offer left me feeling so confused – it felt too good to be true.

"Yes," I answered quietly, feeling Vanessa's eyes on me. "I like Teacher and Sig." Dada smiled a warm smile at me – his smile that always manages to make me feel safe.

"I like them, too," he replied. "I trust them, so if you want to sleep over, I have no issue with it. I'll take you over on my way to the airport on Friday." I swallowed hard and nodded, knowing that Vanessa was gonna try to take this away from us. Vanessa cleared herthroat loudly and said,

"I really hope you're planning on informing them that neither of them sleep at night." Dad looked up at her.

"I had planned on it," Dad replied. "They should know what they're signing up for, so to speak."

"You're gonna tell them?" I asked without thinking. I was embarrassed. I didn't want Teacher and Sig to know about that part of me. I didn't want them to know that I was nine-years-old and still had a blankie that I _had_ to sleep with. I didn't want them to know I would sleepwalk. I didn't want them to know I had bad dreams and still wet my bed. I knew Al didn't want them to know, either, since at this point in his life he was still basically wearing diapers at night because Vanessa _insisted_ it was gonna help him eventually somehow. It was embarrassing and I didn't want Dada to tell them any of it. I was scared that was Vanessa always said was true if he did – that they wouldn't want me around when they saw what I was _really_ like. That they would see me as a bad boy. I didn't want to lose them and was terrified that I would.

"They need to be prepared, honey," Dada told me. "None of us want you sleepwalking out their front door this weekend."

"Y-Yeah, but…." I trailed off and hung my head, knowing I was gonna lose the fight. Dada was gonna tell them everything and, in my head, I figured once they knew they would revoke their offer.

"You can always stay here with me, Edward," Vanessa offered and my blood froze.

" _No!_ " I cried quickly, probably a little _too_ quickly. And loudly. _Definitely_ too loudly. Vanessa shot me a glare and Dad, not realizing the warfare going on around him between Vanessa and I, chuckled at me.

"Tell you what, Ed," Dada began, "I won't tell them you sometimes wet the bed, okay? That's probably what embarrasses you the most." I nodded, my cheeks pink.

"It is," I confirmed, mumbling.

"But, you might have to tell them if something happens," Dad reminded me. "I promise it won't change the way they feel about you." I shrugged. I wanted to believe him, but I didn't. Vanessa's constant taunts and threats and comments about how no one loved me prevented me from believing him.

"I know," I mumbled softly, not looking him in the eye. He put a hand on my shoulder but it didn't make me feel better when Vanessa's eyes were literally burning a hole through me. Al walked over, appearing from upstairs, dragging his backpack behind him. Dada's brow furrowed and he looked at him, Al walking over to us.

"What on earth are you doing?" Dada laughed, Al putting his backpack on Dada's lap.

"Well, I'm packing," Al explained. "But, uh, I don't know what to bring or if my backpack is gonna fit everything."

"Do you remember sleeping over at Nana's?" Dada asked him, Al shaking his head.

"Nuh-uh," Al answered.

"Well, all you need to bring are clothes, pajamas, and your Chico," Dada told him. "I'll help you pack, Alphie, don't worry about it." Al nodded, pulling his backpack off Dada's leg.

"Okay," he agreed. "But I wanna pick out what I wear."

"Sure, sure," Dad answered, Al climbing up on to Dad's lap.

"Be sure those diapers you wear get packed," Vanessa added, Al's chin quivering a little. He hung his head, clearly embarrassed, and Dad patted his back.

"Do you really need to antagonize him?" Dada questioned. Vanessa scowled at him.

"I'm not antagonizing him," Vanessa argued angrily. "It's not my fault he's eight and needs diapers to sleep in!"

"It's not his fault, either!" Dada snapped, Al covering his ears.

"Why are you yelling at me?!" Vanessa questioned angrily. "All I did was remind him to pack his diapers! He should know he needs them!"

"The comment wasn't necessary!" Dad told her. "Sometimes, it's better just say nothing at all than to make a comment. He's embarrassed about it. There's no need to bring it up." Vanessa huffed and crossed her arms, Al pathetically saying,

"Please don't fight."

"Okay, we're done, I'm sorry," Dada told him. "Why don't you, Brother, and I get packed? Are you excited to spend the weekend at Teacher's house?" Al nodded slightly and slipped off Dada's lap. He picked his backpack up, took my hand, and all three of us went upstairs. Dada helped us get packed and I couldn't help but wonder how Vanessa was going to try to take this away from us. I figured she'dget us in trouble for something and we wouldn't be able to go.

Dad helped us finish packing that evening and I was in a state of shock. I couldn't believe that we were actually going to get to have a sleep over with someone. It was something I had yearned for so long. It felt too good to be true. I just kept waiting for Vanessa to sabotage it somehow. I was just waiting for herto make something up or bring up something that happened that week that would derail our whole weekend, but it never happened. I was trying to figure out why. I remember thinking that maybe shewanted a break and was looking forward having the house to herself that weekend. But I wasn't sure. That made herseem too human to me. There had to be an ulterior motive, but I wasn't sure what it could be. I started to wonder if maybe shewas expecting Teacher and Sig to get completely overwhelmed or frustrated with us then send us home. If that happened, I knew that shewould torment us for it. She'd point to that as a reason why we couldn't do the things normal people do. I trusted Teacher and Sig, but I was scared we'd prove to be too much for them and they'd hate us. Just like shedid.

Friday arrived and we were still going, which was absolutely astounding to me. I couldn't believe we were going, even as Dada drove us to their house. Al and I didn't say much on the ride over there. Sure, we were excited, but the excitement we had got drowned out by our fear and anxiety. One of the things Vanessaloved to do when we were growing up was make snide, rude comments to us all the time. It was an easy way to abuse us even when Dad was at home. She'd say something mean so softly that only me or Al could hear. That whole week leading up to the sleepover, shewould make those types of comments to us. That made it really hard to be excited, even though this was something we wanted. Dada parked at Teacher's house and helped us out of the car. We walked up to the front door and Dad knocked, Sig answering the door. He smiled at us and invited us in, Dad asking,

"How's Izumi feeling today?"

"Better," Sig replied. "She's feeling much better. Got some good rest this week."

"That's good," Dada said, Al clinging to him. "I know that last round was hard on her." Sig nodded mutely, Dad turning his attention on Al. "What's the matter, Al?" Al shook his head, Sig bending over to look at him.

"Hey," Sig greeted. "You okay?" Al nodded, hiding behind Dada a little.

"I think he's a little nervous," Dad commented. "He hasn't had a sleepover in a couple years."

"I see," Sig said.

"I'm okay," Al assured them both, finding his voice. "I can call you if I get scared, right, Daddy?"

"That's right," Dada answered, patting Al's head. "My phone will stay on all weekend." Al nodded, Sig taking his bag for him.

"I'll put this up for you," Sig said, Teacher walking in as he walked out.

"Hey, boys," she greeted. We waved at her and Dada walked over to her.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Dad told her. "Are you feeling up to having them all weekend?" Teacher nodded.

"I am, don't worry about me," Teacher assured him. Dad nodded, his hand on my back.

"Well, then, I suppose I should get going," he decided. "Don't want to miss my plane." Teacher smiled a little and nodded.

"We sure don't," she agreed.

"Okay, boys, can I get hugs before I go?" We both nodded and I hugged him, Al joining in, and Dada said goodbye. He left, Teacher smiling at us.

"So, are you two hungry?" She asked. We shifted nervously. Even though we felt safe in her house, we never knew how to answer her questions. Was it okay to tell her that we were hungry? What would happen if we did? Would she force us to watch as she ate but didn't share with us? Would we get hit? Locked in a closet? Beaten? Even though Teacher and Sig had been so nice to us, we always lived in a constant fear of being hit. That's what abuse does to you. It makes you afraid of everyone, even people you love and trust. We just never knew what to expect, from anyone.

"Want me to order pizza?" Sig asked from the hallway, walking back toward us.

"Sure," Teacher answered. "What toppings do you two like?" We exchanged glances, still not sure what was okay to say. We've never been picky eaters, so we'll eat basically anything. Al asked me with his eyes if we should just say we'd eat anything, and I nodded.

"Um, anything's fine," I answered with a shaking voice. Teacher reached to touch me and I flinched, Al hurrying to hide behind me. She pulled away, a sad look on her face.

"I'm sorry," Teacher apologized. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Th-That's okay," I stuttered.

"Do you have a favorite topping, Ed?" Teacher asked me and I frowned. Favorite? I didn't understand why she would ask me that. According to Vanessa, no one cared what I wanted or what I liked. I shrugged.

"I don't know," I mumbled, embarrassed for some reason.

"What about you, Al?" Teacher prompted, Al peeking out from behind me.

"Um… s-sausage an' peppers," Al answered in a whisper.

"That sounds yummy," Teacher told him gently. "Do you like cheesy bread?" Al nodded again.

"Uh-huh," Al replied.

"Me, too," I added.

"Then how about we get a sausage and pepper pizza, a pepperoni pizza, and cheesy bread?" Teacher suggested. "Does that sound good?" We both nodded and Sig grabbed his phone.

"You don't gotta order us anything," I said without thinking.

"Don't give me that, Bug," Teacher told me and I recoiled nervously. "You are both our guests. We want to order food for us all to enjoy." I twisted my shirt nervously in my hands.

"O-Okay," I agreed, not sure. "Are you sure it's okay if we eat?" I wanted to make sure we weren't breaking any rules that we didn't know about. Teacher nodded and I swallowed nervously.

"Of course it's okay," she replied. "You are allowed to eat when you're in my home." I didn't realize it when I was a kid, but Al and I dropped a lot of hints about what was going on without meaning to. We'd ask ten times if it was okay if we ate, took our shoes off, used her bathroom, just normal human stuff and that made Teacher and Sig worried about what life was like at home for us. It didn't help that we were constantly smelly, that we were jumpy, and were just really weird kids. We were easily startled, we didn't act normal, and that made them worried about us. It was this weekend, though, we were started actually saying things that basically confirmed that we were being abused. And it was that night were I basically confirmed all the suspicions they both had.

The pizza came and we ate together, Teacher suggesting we watch movies together. Al and I agreed, too scared of what would happen to us if we didn't want to or we didn't agree. Teacher and Sig tried to get us to pick something out, but neither of us could. We were both too scared to tell them what we wanted. Eventually Teacher picked a movie out for us to watch. I can't even remember what it was. What I do remember was sitting stiffly on her couch with Al, too scared to relax. I didn't know what Dada told her about me in terms of my sleeping patterns, and I certainly didn't want to make her mad at me by laughing or talking or really doing anything. I was hardly able to eat much of anything and neither was Al. I remember they offered us ice cream, but we didn't accept it. We were both too nervous. We weren't sure what would happen if we did. Rules changed constantly when we were younger. Home had a certain set of rules we had to follow when it was just Vanessa at home, but a totally different set of rules to follow when Dad was at home. Plus, Vanessa's rules changed on a dime, meaning we never truly knew what to expect when we were at home. If we were allowed to visit Granny and Winry, their house had a different set of rules, school had a different set of rules, and martial arts had another set of rules we had to follow. I can't begin to explain how confusing that was growing up. I can't explain how scary it was to never really know what was expected of me or what was okay. It's something that unless you've been through it and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

Al ended up falling asleep around nine-thirty that night. He was curled up next to me, Chico resting under his head and his thumb-sucking thumb in his mouth. Teacher asked me again if I wanted some ice cream and I shook my head. Did I actually want some? Yeah, of course I did. Little kids love ice cream and I was no exception to that. I was just petrified. What if I told her I did want one, she gave me one, then suddenly changed her mind? What would happen if I dribbled ice cream on something? What would happen if it suddenly wasn't okay to eat? It just wasn't worth the risk. Teacher and Sig tried their best to engage me in conversation, but I just didn't have much to say. I was fighting a battle inside that they just didn't know about. Plus, I was scared 'cause Al was sleeping already. What if he peed all over the couch? What if he woke up screaming? What if they saw him sucking his thumb? I was in the middle of a war that I only I knew I was fighting, and that's a heavy burden for anyone, especially a nine-year-old.

"You never told me how your family celebrated Al's birthday," Teacher said. I looked at her, my neck sweating.

"Oh," I said simply. "Well, um, we mostly just did stuff at home."

"You mean he didn't have a birthday party?" Teacher questioned. I licked my lips, getting increasingly more nervous.

"Yeah, uh, Al doesn't really like parties," I replied, though it felt like a lie. I had no idea if Al liked parties or not. He hadn't had a birthday party since he turned three. Well, okay, he had a mini-party when he turned four, but he turned four about a month on the day after Mom died, so we had a small gathering, but it wasn't what Al wanted.

"Interesting," Teacher commented with a frown. I swallowed nervously and she went on, "Al told me he was hoping to have one. He mentioned a trampoline park to me he was hoping to have a party at." I couldn't believe Al mentioned anything like that to Teacher. I had told her stuff, but not like that. The stuff I told her was stuff like what foods I liked or that I didn't sleep well at night. That was about it. I shifted anxiously.

"We… I… well, we…." I quit talking, knowing I was gonna dig a hole for myself that I probably wouldn't be able get out of if I said anything.

"Did your stepmother have anything to do with Al not getting a party?" Teacher asked me. I froze up, not knowing what I was supposed to say. I wondered what I _could_ say that would make this conversation stop without revealing anything about what life was like at home while also not painting Al in a negative light. Al was a very open kid, and he still is in a lot of ways. If he trusts you, he typically is pretty open with you. So, while I was caught off guard that Al would share what kind of birthday party he wanted to have, I wasn't completely surprised. Plus, we both tended to accidently say things to adults we trusted, besides Dad, so it wasn't like nothing like this had ever happened. I just didn't know what to say.

"Uh… sh-she… she thought it was too soon after surgery to be jumping," I lied anxiously, though it had been two months since he had gotten his appendix out by the time his birthday came around. Teacher made a face but nodded.

"I see," Teacher sighed.

"I, um, Al and I are gonna go to bed now," I announced, pulling Al upright. He moaned a little, rubbing his eye.

"Mmm," Al moaned softly, looking at me.

"Let's go to bed," I instructed, Al nodding. We got up and walked to the spare room Teacher and Sig got ready for us and I asked, "You told Teacher about the party you wanted?" Al swallowed nervously but nodded.

"Y-Yeah, I'm sorry," Al apologized softly.

"It's okay," I assured him. Al sniffled and I patted his head, trying to convince him that it was really okay that he told her. I didn't want him to feel like his natural kindness and honesty was a bad thing. I tried so hard when I was a kid to keep those gentler sides of Al safe. I didn't want him to lose the traits that made him special. I wanted him to continue to be kind, to be silly, to be curious, to be honest. And it felt like I failed when I had to basically scold him for telling people the truth when he would tell people things about what we were going through. I dug around in his backpack, trying to find the diapers or pull-ups or whatever you want to call them that he was still wearing to bed. But I couldn't find them. I turned the bag upside down and watched everything spill out. The pull-ups didn't fall out, but a note did. I grabbed it and read it, my blood running cold;

 _See if they still like you when you piss in bed._ I swallowed and wadded the note up, not wanting Al to see. She _was_ trying to ruin this for us. She was just doing it in a way I didn't think of. She wanted to prove to us that nobody, not even Dada or Teacher, truly loved us and that as soon as we did something that Vanessa considered gross or bad, they would finally say so. They would _finally_ admit to us that they thought we were bad, nasty boys and that they only put up with us out of obligation or something and not 'cause they cared. I didn't want Al to know she had intentionally removed the pull-ups and wanted us to lose our relationship with Teacher and Sig, then blame Al for it. He blamed himself for enough already.

"What's that?" Al asked me, getting on his knees next to me.

"Uh, nothing," I lied. "Dada musta forgot to pack your pull-ups." Al nodded, digging around in his stuff on the floor.

"Oh," he sighed. "Okay. I hate them anyways."

"I know you do," I replied. "But you wear them for a reason." Al looked at me.

"Are you gonna call her?" Al questioned nervously. I shook my head. Even if she hadn't left us that lovely note, I knew there was no way she'd bring us some for the weekend. This was exactly what she wanted, regardless of if she had shared that with us or not.

"No," I answered. "No point."

"What am I gonna do?" Al asked me pathetically. "Sh-Should I t-t-tell Teacher?" I licked my lips, not sure what to do. What if we told her we didn't have them (she knew he wore pull-ups to bed), and she got mad? What if she kicked us out without even giving us the chance to spend the night? I just didn't know. Vanessa's constant manipulation and cruelty made any choice I made a pain-staking one. It made it impossible to think clearly, and, if we're being honest, what nine-year-old can make hard decisions anyway? What nine-year-old can make adult choices and think clearly when they're scared or upset? I don't think anybody that young can, nor should they. But I was put into that position all the time growing up, leading to a constant feeling of never being safe.

"No, no, I don't think that's a good idea," I finally said. Al's chin quivered and I went on, "Let's just stay up all night."

"A-All night?" Al questioned, sniffling.

"Sure, it'll be easy," I told him, though I wasn't sure. I had never intentionally stayed up all night. The only time I had were the nights I got tied up and stayed up, wondering when Vanessa was going to return and make good on her threats of cutting my tongue out if I didn't stop crying. Fear was usually what kept me up and since I was terrified of losing two adults who I trusted, I figured that would keep me and Al up the same way.

"I'll try," Al told me, standing up. We both got ready for bed, determined to stay up all night. We stayed up talking for a little while, but I could feel my eyes getting itchy. Al rested his head on my shoulder and I shook him a little, practically begging him to stay up. He managed to stay awake for a little longer but passed out before midnight. I managed to stay up a little longer, but my head flopped forward a few minutes later and I passed out shortly after Al did.

When I woke up next, I instantly realized Al wasn't next to me anymore. I also noticed that the bed was pretty wet, mostly on Al's side. I instantly knew what happened and started panicking. Where did Al go? Did Teacher or Sig find out what happened and lock him up somewhere? Was he tied up? Being beaten? I just didn't know. I hurried out of bed and cautiously approached the door. At home when it was just us and Vanessa, Al and I were not allowed to leave our room. The door stayed locked and if we snuck out, we knew there'd be hell to pay. Even though I knew Vanessa wasn't there, I still got scared of opening the door and trying to find Al. But the mere thought of Al being hurt or scared helped me overcome that fear and open the door. I slipped outside, the bathroom light on and the door cracked so I could see it. It didn't offer much light, but enough that I could see the hallway was empty. I swallowed and listened, trying to hear any sounds of distress. And I heard them. I heard fearful, shallow breathing coming from a closet in between the bedroom we were staying in and Teacher and Sig's room. Other than that, the house was completely silent. I snuck over and opened the door. Al was sitting in the closet near the back, hugging Chico to his chest. He was crying, but it was shallow and quiet 'cause he was terrified. All I could think about was the note Vanessa had left for us and how even though I kept the note from him, he was still scared of what would happen when Teacher found out what happened. He was scared of losing them.

"It's okay," I comforted in a whisper, Al shaking his head. " _Shh_ , it's okay. Did you have a bad dream?" Al nodded miserably.

"I d-dreamed I w-was in th-the trunk again," Al cried pathetically.

"Oh," I replied, not knowing what to say. I've never known what to say after Al has a trunk dream. It's just too awful. Al started crying harder and I frantically tried to shush him; " _Shh_ , don't cry. Don't cry. It's okay." Al was slowly descending into hysterics and I got on my hands and knees. I crawled to him and pulled him up onto my lap, Al sobbing into my neck. Snot and tears got all over me as I did my best to comfort him. At home when it was just Vanessa at home, if we had a bad dream, we couldn't react the way normal kids could. Normal kids can cry and get upset and walk to their parents' room without being scared of being beaten. We weren't allowed to do any of those things. When it was just Vanessa, we would cover each other's mouths while the other screamed and I even had to put blankets and stuff over Al's mouth when he was in the thick of it so Vanessa wouldn't hear and beat him for it. When Dada was home, though, we were _loud_. It was safe to be loud. And, even though Al was scared, I suppose he felt safe enough to be loud at Teacher's house. But I was getting panicked. What if it wasn't okay to be this loud? What if Teacher and Sig got mad because Al was crying? What would they do to him? To me?

"You gotta be quiet," I told him frantically. "We don't know the rules! You hafta be quiet!" Al was basically wailing now and nothing I did calmed him down. He quieted instantly, though, when we heard footsteps. I tensed up and scooted away from the door, folding my body over him instinctively. We were convinced that everything Vanessa told us would happen was going to happen. We thought for sure Teacher was about to tell us that we were annoying, bad boys and she didn't want us in her house.

"Ed? Al?" Teacher asked and I glanced back at her. She didn't look mad, but I still shut my eyes and hid my face into Al, both of us quivering. "What's the matter? What's going on?"

"N-Nothing," I told her instantly. "We're fine."

"What happened?" Teacher asked and I shook my head, not looking at her.

"Nothing," I repeated.

"Don't you lie to me," she warned and I flinched.

"I-I'm sorry!" I cried, holding Al closer to me somehow. All I could think was about how I needed to keep Al safe. I needed to protect him. He was so little and gentle and I needed to protect him, even if it meant Teacher hit me.

"Edward," Teacher began softly. I could hear her getting closer and I scooted further away, bumping into the wall of the closet. I tensed up, Al whimpering in my ear, as Teacher knelt down next to us. I could feel the heat of her body next to mine and I was wheezing. I felt sweaty, like I was gonna throw up.

"Edward, what are the most important aspects of martial arts?" Teacher asked me. I miserably looked up at her, panting as I tried to calm my breathing down.

"You… you always say it's trust and honesty," I answered in a whisper. Teacher smiled warmly at me and reached to pat my head. I yelped and ducked, Teacher retracting her hand.

"That's right," she replied sadly. "Do you remember why I always say that?"

"I… uh… it's 'cause you gotta be honest with yourself and others to… to…." I trailed off, not able to think clearly. I just felt like shit 'cause I wasn't honest with Teacher and I knew it. I lied to her. I kept things secret. And I felt _terrible_. My chin quivered and I started to cry; "I-I'm s-s-sorry!"

"Can you just tell me what happened?" Teacher asked. "Why are you two hiding in here?"

"Al… Al had a bad dream," I explained, crying. "An' he… he…. Well, um, D-Dada didn't…." I didn't know what to say so I just stopped talking. She knew he was supposed to wear diapers to bed, so I didn't want him to get in trouble. I knew she was gonna find out eventually, but I just couldn't figure out what to say or how to tell her.

"Ed, it's okay," Teacher assured me. "You can trust me. It's all right to be honest with me."

"Pr-Promise you won't be mad at Al?" I asked, Teacher nodding. I took a deep breath and said, "Dada didn't put Al's, um, well, his pull-ups in his backpack, so Al had an accident in bed. He's really sorry."

"Why didn't you call your stepmother when you realized you didn't have them?" Teacher questioned and I started sweating again.

"Because…." I shifted nervously, still cradling Al, "I knew she wouldn't care." I held my breath, knowing I shouldn't have said that. I turned to Teacher and tried to back track; "I-I mean 'cause I'm stupid and didn't think about it."

"You are not stupid, Ed," Teacher told me. I shrugged, sniffling.

"Are you very mad at Al?" I asked in a whisper, Al shivering in my lap. "He didn't mean it, really."

"Do I look very mad?" Teacher asked me and I shook my head.

"N-No," I said nervously. "B-But that doesn't mean you aren't mad. You could be so mad at him. But he can't help it! He even had surgery to help 'cause he's always had accidents. My stepmom doesn't care, though. She's always mad at him when it happens! She yells at him and rubs his face in it and sprays him with the hose! P-Please don't do that to him! He's a good boy! I pr-promise!"

"Edward, listen to me," Teacher said sternly yet gently, "I am not mad at Al. I know it was an accident. I know he can't help it. I would never yell at him or spray him with a hose for having an accident. I know he's a good boy. I know he is. Does your stepmother do that to him often?" I was exhausted at this point, mentally and physically, so I wasn't guarding my words as carefully as I usually did. I had already told her too much, and I knew that, but I said,

"All the time." I rubbed tears out of my eyes and said, "Sh-She'll do it to me, too. And sh-she locks me in the closet all night and makes me sit in my wet pajamas. Or if I wake up crying, she'll threaten to cut my tongue out."

"That sounds scary," Teacher commented. "What about your dad? What does he say when she does those things?"

"He…." I licked my lips and pulled on her arm. She got closer to me and I whispered; "He doesn't know any of that stuff. She's mean to us when he's out of town, so he doesn't know. You can't say anything. I didn't mean to tell you. Promise you won't say anything?"

"Ed…." Teacher sighed sadly, pulling away. She patted my head and started delicately petting my hair. I looked at her, silently begging her with my eyes to keep everything I said secret. I couldn't believe how much I had told her and was terrified of what would happen it Vanessa ever found out.

"All right," she finally agreed softly. "All right. I'll keep it a secret for you." I nodded, Al still hiding from her. Teacher leaned in, Al squirming fearfully.

"Alphonse," Teacher said gently. "It's all right. I'm not angry with you. I'm sorry you had a bad dream. Would you like to talk about it?" Al looked at her, his eyes puffy and red from all the crying and shook his head.

"I'm s-s-sorry," Al cried pathetically. "I'm sorry. I didn't m-mean to wake you up."

"C'mere, Bean," Teacher invited, holding her arms out for him. He swallowed hard and shook his head, clinging to me.

"It's okay," I whispered to him. "She's not gonna hurt you. Trust her." Al whimpered but crawled off my lap and into Teacher's arms. He was tense as she pulled him into a hug, but he relaxed pretty quickly. He rested his head on her shoulder and Teacher just sat with him for a minute, letting Al feel safe in her arms.

"You, too, Ed," she invited. I swallowed hard, but crawled over to her, allowing her to hug me as well. I sighed contently, the soft sounds of Al sucking his thumb comforting me almost as much as the hug.

"Do you feel safe here, Ed?" Teacher asked me after a little while. I nodded.

"Yeah," I said sleepily.

"That's good," Teacher replied. "Do you feel safe at home?" I shrugged a little, rubbing my eye.

"If Dada's at home," I answered. "Mostly, anyways. Vanessa's been kinda mean lately even when Daddy's home."

"What about when Daddy's gone? Do you feel safe then?"

"No," I whispered, my eyes dropping. "She… she makes me stay in the basement sometimes when I'm bad. I don't even know what I do wrong most of the time. She says everything I do is bad. D'you think that's true?"

"It's not true, Edward," Teacher told me. "When she keeps you in the basement, are you locked in? Is there a place for you to sleep, eat, go to the bathroom?" I moaned and shook my head.

"It's secret," I told her, absolutely exhausted. "I feel safe with you, though. I know you'll keep my secrets. I just can't tell you that, I'm sorry."

"That's okay," she assured me, petting my hair. "Are you ready to go back to bed?" I nodded.

"Is Al sleeping?" I asked, yawning. Teacher nodded.

"Yes, he fell sleep a little bit ago," Teacher explained. I heard footsteps and saw Sig standing at the closet door.

"I took the sheets off the bed," he announced. "Are they okay?" Teacher nodded and stood up, carrying me and Al on either hip.

"Fine, dear," Teacher said, "thank you. Al had a bad dream and got scared." Sig nodded, taking me from Teacher so she only had one dead weight kid to carry.

"T-Teacher?" I asked, "Sig? If you're not very mad, could we sleep in your bed? I'll even go potty twice to make sure I don't have an accident in your bed."

"We're not mad," Sig told me in his gruff yet gentle voice. "You're more than welcome in our bed." He put me down and Teacher said,

"Go change and try going potty. I'll take care of Al."

"Promise you're not mad at him?" I asked. Teacher nodded.

"I promise," she told me. "Go get ready for bed." I nodded and did as I was told. I even tried to pee after I already did to make sure I didn't wet the bed. I held Lamby tightly and crept to their room, Al sleeping in between Teacher and Sig. He was clean and dry, sucking his thumb and hugging Chico. That meant they didn't hurt him. I was honestly so scared that they would when I was getting ready for bed and was so relieved that they didn't. It wasn't that I didn't trust them. It was that I was so used to being tied up and beaten for everything that I expected it out of people I loved and trusted. It's a horrible feeling, honestly. I crawled up into bed with them and Al wrapped his arms around me instantly. I swear that as I fell asleep that Teacher and Sig were having a worried conversation under their breaths, but I never heard anything but whispering I couldn't make out as I fell asleep.

That next morning, Teacher and Sig surprised us over breakfast. I thought for sure that when Teacher cleared her throat that morning, she was gonna tell us how bad we were. I was scared she was gonna kick us out, meaning Vanessa had been right, about everything. There was another horrible alternative I imagined in the short seconds following Teacher clearing her throat – I imagined her hitting us. I imagined that she agreed with Vanessa, that she had the whole time, and that beating us or tying us up was the only way to punish us for what we did wrong. But none of those things happened. Instead, Teacher told us that we were going to a trampoline park. But not just any trampoline park – we were going to the one Al told her about when he talked to her about his fantasy birthday party. We were both in shock and I eventually managed to shake my head.

"No," I told them, my voice shaking. "You c-can't. It costs money a-an' we were bad last night."

"First of all, you two were not bad," Teacher said firmly. "Secondly, we know it costs money, but we want to take you. It's okay, really." I shook my head again.

"You don't have to," I insisted, Al nodding. "We're okay with staying here or going to a park or something, honest. You don't gotta spend money on us."

"Ed, listen to what we're saying, okay?" Teacher told me. I swallowed nervously but nodded. "We _want_ to take you. We _want_ to spend the money on you because we love you. We both want to take you and we'll all have fun together. Does that make sense?" I didn't say anything. It really didn't make sense. No one besides Dada cared about us that way. Well, Granny did, but Vanessa kept Granny away from us because Granny cared. When other adults offered to do things with us or buy us things, we never knew how to react besides to assure them we didn't need whatever they were offering. The unspoken thing was we felt like we didn't _deserve_ it. We were _bad boys_. Bad boys don't get presents or birthday parties or trips to the zoo. Bad boys get punished. Bad boys get yelled at. Bad boys get beaten, burned, tied up, and trapped. That's what we got. That's what we _deserved_.

"Okay," I finally agreed, playing with my food. I wasn't hungry anymore. I actually felt sick. I didn't know what was gonna happen to us when we got there. Would we get in trouble for playing on the trampolines? Would that privilege be taken away on a whim and then we'd be in trouble? I just didn't know. Neither of us did.

Al and I helped clean up the kitchen after breakfast. Teacher and Sig told us we didn't have to, but we wanted to. Al loved to help and I think for him, it was a genuine desire to help. For me, though, it was almost robotic. If I didn't help clean up a mess I helped to make, I could get beaten for that later. It was a way for me to cover my ass. There wasn't anything real, or at least that's how it felt. I remember when I was really little, I'd help my mom around the house. I'd help her pick up toys, clean the house, garden, and of course I'd help with Al. Back then, I loved to help. I loved knowing that I made Mom's life a little easier and it was a time that I got to spend just with her. I guess I did want to help Teacher for the same reason, but the fear of getting hurt because I didn't help kinda buried those feelings. I don't know. Once the kitchen was clean, Al went potty and we were off. Al was quiet at first as he was trying to make sense of what was happening, but as we got closer to the trampoline park, part of the real Al started to shine through. He started talking, and he was excited. He couldn't wait to play on the trampolines and wondered what else would be there to play on. He told Teacher and Sig that he was gonna try to do lots of flips and other tricks and I remember smiling. It was so nice to see Al acting like himself, something I would see less and less as we got older.

When we got to the trampoline park and at first, Al and I were totally overwhelmed. It was loud, it was crowded, it smelled funny, and we had no idea what to do. We had never been to a public place like that before. We had no idea where to even start. I remember that Al was really upset at first. Sig was holding Al on his hip, Al hiding his face in Sig's massive shoulder. Sig was gently patting his back, softly encouraging Al to try jumping. While Sig comforted Al, Teacher took my hand and guided me to this pit with these foam squares filling it. I stared at it for a second, not sure what to make of it, before glancing over my shoulder to look at Sig and Al. I felt Teacher gently put her hand on my back and I looked at her.

"Do you want to play?" She asked. I shrugged.

"I don't even know what this is," I told her, gesturing to the foam pit.

"It's sort of like a ball pit," Teacher explained. "There are trampolines lining the pit. Why don't you see if you can run around the pit without falling in?" I twisted my hands together nervously.

"What happens to me if I fall in?" I asked worriedly.

"Nothing," Teacher told me. "It won't hurt." I swallowed and looked away. She didn't understand. I was more concerned with what _she_ would do to me if I fell in. I was worried that this was all an elaborate plot of some kind and if I couldn't stay on the trampolines, I'd get hit. That's what abuse does to your brain. That's what Dr. Hughes says. Abuse leads to intrusive thoughts and anxiety that becomes so overwhelming you can't see things rationally.

"I guess I'll try," I said, slipping my shoes off. I put them in a nearby cubby station and walked to the pit, crawling onto the closest trampoline to the entrance. The whole thing was sorta tilted and I wobbled a little, so I decided to start running. I ran around the pit, tripping and rolling off the trampolines and landing in the pit. I fell face first in the foam squares and got up instantly, Teacher smiling at me.

"How was that?" I asked.

"That was good," she praised. I grinned at her, spotting Sig with Al still on his hip, walking up to Teacher. Al, who definitely looked like he had been crying, was giggling a little, worming out of Sig's arms.

"You going in?" Sig asked, Al hurrying to get his shoes off.

"Yeah, I wanna try," he said, running to the pit. He got on to the wall and ran for a second before deciding to jump on to the next trampoline. He laughed and continued to jump until he finally lost his footing and tumbled into the pit with me. Al was laughing wildly, struggling to get back up onto the wall. I helped him up and got on myself, wobbling a little.

"Watch me, Brother!" Al cried happily, jumping across the gap where the entrance was. He landed hard on the trampoline and using the momentum he had, jumped and flipped on to the next trampoline. I jumped up and down, clapping and cheering for him as he ran and jumped and flipped all around the wall of the pit before tripping and falling back down into the pit.

"Good job, Al!" Teacher praised, Sig putting an arm around her.

"Can we try another one?" Al asked, waddling through the pit and climbing out of it.

"If Brother's okay with that," Sig replied. I nodded and hurried over, jumping out of the pit.

"I am," I announced.

"I saw this cool looking obstacle course as we came in," Teacher told us. "Would you like to try that?" We both nodded.

"Yeah!" Al cried. "Let's race! I'm really fast, Teacher, watch!" Al did was basically the little kid version of the Naruto run, Sig grabbing his arm to stop him from running off too far.

"You sure are," Sig commented, picking Al up and holding him upside down. Al's face turned bright red as he laughed and I hurried over.

"Pick me up!" I demanded like the little kid I was. Sig nodded and picked me up, too, hanging me upside down. I laughed until it hurt and I was dizzy, Sig putting us both down.

"Obstacle course!" Al cried, Sig taking his hand. I took Al's other hand, and Teacher took my free one.

"Then let's go," Teacher said fondly, leading us to the obstacle course.

We spent a majority of the day at the trampoline park. I actually forgot for a few hours how shitty and terrifying my life was. Teacher played with us. They bought us lunch. They comforted Al when he got a rug burn and was crying. They reminded Al to go potty every couple hours. The comforted me when I got overwhelmed about the sheer amount of people who were there and even got me to play for another hour after that. They bought us ice cream on the way home. They didn't get mad at Al when he passed out in the backseat and got ice cream everywhere. By all accounts, we felt like normal kids for once. Everything we did was completely and totally normal that day. I wasn't worried about rules or getting in trouble or anything like that. It was almost like taking a break from it all. That's sorta how I saw it. Teacher even went to the store after dinner to buy some pull-ups for Al so that if he had an accident that night, he wouldn't have to worry about wet pajamas or wet sheets. They acted more like parents that we expected them to and we went to bed on a high note. Unfortunately for us, bad dreams never take a break.

We stayed up until about ten thirty, which for a couple of little kids is pretty late. I remember that we had dinner, played board games and stuff. Teacher had managed to do something pretty incredible and I wonder if she knew then just how cool what she did for us was. She managed to distract us from how horrible our lives were that whole day. I think Teacher and Sig both had suspicions at this point that something wasn't right at home and they had them for a while. They both saw our strange behavior and once we started talking, they definitely knew _something_ wasn't right. I don't know if they knew it was abuse prior to that weekend we first stayed over, but considering I shared with her that Vanessa loved to keep me in the basement (something I forgot I told her until a few weeks later), I think Teacher was starting to seriously suspect Al and I were being abused at home. She didn't even hotline our family until after this first sleepover we had with them. Anyways, Al and I got ready for bed and fell asleep pretty quickly. We were really tired from all the jumping and playing we go to do. My dad always told me when I was a kid that you always sleep good after a long day of being active and shit. Well, that was true less than half the time for me and Al. Even on the days where we did stuff all day or whatever, we still would end up screaming that night.

I can remember what my dream was about that night. In my dream, I was alone and tied up by my wrists and ankles. In the dream, it was both Vanessa and Teacher who had tied me up and were hurting me. Unsurprisingly, I woke up screaming, startling Al awake who was sleeping next to me. I remember that Al fell out of bed 'cause he was so scared by it. Also, equally unsurprisingly, I was absolutely soaking wet, both with sweat and pee because _of course_ I was. I could hardly breathe and I had no idea where I was. I was so disoriented that when Al attempted to comfort me, I shoved him so hard he fell backward and hit his head on the ground. Now we were both crying and when I realized who I had pushed, I cried even harder. I saw the door open, so I quickly got out of bed and hid under it, panicked and shivering.

"Are you two okay?" I heard Teacher ask. Now that I knew where I was, I was terrified Teacher was going to get mad at me for shoving Al. I didn't mean to, but I was scared she wouldn't care.

"B-B-Brother p-pushed me!" Al wailed. "I-I w-was tr-trying to help an-an' he w-w-was t-t-too scared an-an' pushed me a-an' I hit m-my head!"

" _Shh_ ," Teacher comforted. "It's all right. Why don't you go to my room, Al? Sig will make your head feel better."

"O-Okay," Al sniffled. "Feel better, Brother." I was wheezing, Teacher's feet coming into my view. She knelt down, looking me right in the eye.

"I'm sorry," I panted, panicked. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! D-Don't t-t-tie me up! I'm s-s-sorry!"

"Whoa, Ed, what in the world are you talking about?" Teacher asked me, clearly caught off guard.

"I'm so-sorry!" I wailed. "I d-d-didn't mean t-t-to! I d-d-don't wanna b-be t-t-tied up! P-Please d-d-don't!"

"Edward, I would never do that to you," Teacher assured me gently. "What scared you so badly? Did you have a bad dream?" I shook my head, still too freaked out to really understand what she was saying to me. I covered my face with my hands, and cried into them, too scared to look Teacher in the eye.

"I'm sorry," I cried pathetically. "I-I'm a bad boy! I'm a bad boy!"

"No, you aren't," Teacher told me. "It's all right. Why don't you come out so I can help you?" I shook my head.

"I c-c-can't!" I sobbed. "You'll tie me up a-an' leave me there all night a-an' you'll h-hurt me an-an' hurt Al if I c-cry! I-I'm sc-scared! I want my daddy!"

"Your daddy's not here," Teacher reminded me softly. "Listen to me, Edward, I'm not going to hurt you or Al. I'm not going to tie you up. Why in the world would you think that?"

"B-Because my stepmom does!" I cried, feeling like I was about to throw up. And throw up I did, all down my front. I scooted out from under the bed and hurried into the closet, curling up into a ball. I couldn't believe I just told Teacher that! I knew better!

"Ed," Teacher said quietly, sitting in front of the closet I was hiding in. "Your stepmother cannot hurt you here and I promise you that I am not going to hurt you. Your stepmother is wrong for tying you up." I shook my head.

"I'm a liar," I informed her miserably. "I lied. I'm s-sorry. I only dreamed that happened. She doesn't tie me up, honest. I lied, I'm sorry." Teacher sighed, shaking her head.

"I don't think you did, Ed," she replied and I swallowed nervously. "You have been nothing but honest with me the last several minutes, so try to be honest with me now because I have a very important question for you. Does your stepmother abuse you?" I shook my head, whimpering loudly. I was thinking of my teacher, Mrs. George, who asked me that question so much the previous school year and who I knew had asked Al that question a lot during the school year that had just ended. I remembered the social workers and police offers who came to do wellness checks and never did anything to help us. I didn't want to go through that anymore 'cause it only made the abuse worse. But I knew that since I had let it slip that Vanessa tied me up, Teacher was probably going to call whoever it was who made the social workers and the police come.

"No," I lied, still curled up into a ball. "N-No. That doesn't h-happen. She's just kinda m-mean sometimes, that's all." Teacher shook her head but didn't press me any further. I think she knew it wouldn't be productive right then to probe me for more information. I also know she knew I was lying to protect the family, though I don't think I knew that right then.

"Well, if you ever feel like you can talk to me about what's going on at home, just know I'm always here to listen, Edward," Teacher assured me. "Now, I need you to be a brave boy and trust me, okay? Can you trust me and come out of the closet now?" I shook my head.

"N-No, 'cause I w-wet my bed a-an' you're gonna be so mad at me!" I cried. "A-An' I threw up under the bed!"

"I'm not mad at you," Teacher told me. "I promise I'm not mad at you."

"You don't w-want us to sleepover ever again," I sobbed miserably.

"That's not true," Teacher said. "I've loved having you this weekend. I would love it if you boys would come back to spend the night again." My head shot up and I looked right at her. Vanessa was wrong? Vanessa told me that as soon as Teacher and Sig saw my ugly side, they would want nothing to do with me. They'd be _ashamed_ to know me. They'd never want to spend time with me and Al again. But that appeared to not be true. Here Teacher was, offering to help me and have me at her house again after everything I had put her through. I woke her up, I pushed Al so hard he hit his head, I peed in her bed and threw up on her floor. I told her I thought she'd tie me up and beat me, a horrible thing to accuse someone of. But she wasn't mad at me. She didn't hate me. She was treating me the way Dad always did and I was so shocked.

"R-Really?" I questioned, Teacher nodding.

"Really," she replied. "Have you had fun?" I nodded miserably.

"Uh-huh," I sniffled. "I liked the trampoline park."

"I did, too," Teacher said. "Now, can you be a brave boy and come out now?" I nodded and hesitantly started crawling toward her. She opened her arms for me and I crawled up into her lap, resting my head on her shoulder. She cuddled me, calming me down and making me feel safe.

"Let's get you cleaned up so we can go back to bed." Teacher told me gently, my head resting comfortably on her shoulder still. I nodded, not realizing that Teacher was going to hotline my stepmom first thing in the morning. Because she did. I know that now. It was one of the first things she told me when she saw me after I got home from foster care. To be honest, I was angry with her at first. I felt betrayed. I trusted her to keep that secret for me and she didn't. But, after I had time to think about it (and some therapy if we're being honest), I understood why she did it. She didn't do it to break a promise or to hurt me. She did it to help me. She was trying to protect me. She realized Al and I were stuck in a horrible situation and we needed out. And that's what she tried to do for the next four years. She was trying to protect us.

"Okay," I replied tiredly, Teacher picking me off the ground and holding me on her hip.

I slept in Teacher and Sig's bed that night, Al right next to me. That night was not the last sleepover we had with them, and with each sleepover, Al and would spill more and more secrets. It was small stuff at first. Vanessa doesn't let us take baths when she's home with us. Vanessa doesn't always feed us when she's home alone with us. Vanessa always calls us mean names. Then, it became bigger. Vanessa locks us in our room at night. Vanessa keeps me in the basement with no way out. Vanessa locks us outside and we have to sleep in the doghouse. Eventually, Vanessa figured out that the new influx of hotline calls were coming from Teacher and Sig. So, like with most good things in our lives, Vanessa limited our contact with them. It started with taking away the sleepovers, then it became no more martial arts lessons. We started sneaking out to see her, but Vanessa really made that difficult. She knew what we were doing, what we were saying, and I guess she figured eventually Teacher might tell Dada. And, you know what? Teacher _did_ tell Dad things. She would tell him what we told her and he'd, of course, be absolutely horrified by it. Then he'd confront Vanessa about it who'd, of course, lie her ass off about it. I think Vanessa was worried that one day me or Al would say something that she wouldn't be able to deny, so what did she do to prevent that?

Well, first, she limited our contact with Teacher and Sig. At first, we weren't going to sleepovers as often, but were still taking martial arts. Then, it became no sleepovers and still taking martial arts. Soon, though, Vanessa lied to Dada and told him that Teacher was now charging ridiculous fees that we couldn't afford (something to do with liability insurance or some shit) and then we weren't taking martial arts anymore. Vanessa had effectively cut us off from Teacher and Sig less than a year after we met them because Al and I just couldn't keep our mouths shut around them. We'd still sneak out to see her, but Vanessa would always find us and drag us home kicking and screaming. All to make sure Dada never found out what was really going on when he wasn't home. Other shit happened, too, that prevented Teacher from communicating with Dad. Vanessa broke Dada's cell phone (blamed me, big surprise) and Teacher and Sig never got his new number because of course it changed when he got a new one. Vanessa also did her best to prevent us from learning his new number, but Dada shut that down. Didn't really matter, though, because we didn't see Teacher and Sig enough by that point to even tell them what Dad's new number was. Then there's CPS who never did anything 'cause of what happened when Al was in second grade all on top of Teacher's cancer that just wouldn't go away and you can see how hard it was for her (or anybody really) to help us.

But, despite all that, Teacher and Sig tried. They tried so hard to protect us. They opened their home to us. They fed us. They clothed us. They loved on us. And, what really took me by surprise when I was a kid was that they proved Vanessa wrong. Vanessa told me and Al constantly that we were worthless and that anyone who treated us kindly didn't really mean it. They actually hated us. And if they saw our ugly side, the nightmares, the panic attacks, the stuff that made us little kids, they would reject us completely. But they didn't. Teacher and Sig saw everything. They saw every side of us and loved us anyway. They never treated us like we were dirty or bad. They never treated us the way Vanessa constantly told us they would. To me, their kindness was winning a battle in a war that they may or may not have known they were fighting in. For me, their kindness showed me that Vanessa was wrong and that people truly did love us. How many people can say a sleepover did that for them?


End file.
